Family Feudalism
by Musical Redhead
Summary: If you feel threatened by the return of the one that went away, then pawning off that estranged granddaughter is always a viable option.
1. I

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

**Acknowledgements**: Thank you to Anybody Anywhere for being my super intelligent test audience; and thank you to TL22 for giving/gathering information I needed during story preparation.

**A/N**: This is not part of the mystery series. It's completely separate.

**I**

On an early spring evening, Tristan Dugray was sitting in the living room of an old family friend. Well, not quite friend, but everyone pretended to be, so it really amounted to the same thing. His hostess had been pestering him ever since he got back to the States. She wanted to introduce him to her granddaughter. He had a good idea why, so he wondered if the girl was comfortable with her grandmother pawning her off on him.

"She's perfect for you," she had told him. "If you would just come to dinner to meet her, you'll see." Tristan found that unlikely, considering the woman didn't know anything about him.

Still, she'd been persistent. "My granddaughter went to Yale, you'll love her. Everyone does."

The Yale part did surprise him. He would have assumed Smith or Vassar. He still believed 'perfect' was subjective, but he agreed to dinner anyway. If nothing else, so he'd be left alone. He doubted the evening would be as successful as the matchmaker hoped.

From the chair next to the couch, she commented, "The weather has been unseasonably warm lately."

"Has it?" he asked after he'd taken a sip of his drink and winced at the taste of the hard liquor.

"Oh, that's right," she said with an apologetic smile. "You haven't been in Connecticut in a while, have you?"

He shook his head. "No."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she stood and said, "Excuse me, but I need to go check something in the kitchen."

Tristan nodded in acknowledgment. When he was alone, his eyes wandered around the room. Another couch was across from him with a coffee table in between, and there was a fireplace along the wall adjacent from where he was sitting. Photos lined the mantel, and he could make out a dark haired man with a blond girl next to him. Tristan hoped the pictures were outdated, because the girl looked entirely too young to be set up with a grown man. Either that or her grandmother was really desperate to marry them off.

And that was the goal—unattainable as it was.

Under normal circumstances, this would be about finding an acceptable man for her granddaughter. But this was a tactical move. She couldn't stop change, it was inevitable. This was her last ditch effort to hold on in whatever way she could. It wasn't Tristan's fault his family would come out on top. His return to Connecticut wasn't the last nail in the coffin _per se_. He was just the linchpin.

His thoughts were briefly interrupted when the doorbell chimed. He saw the maid walk by to let the last of the evening's guests in—the granddaughter.

Even though he'd never met her, Tristan already knew he wouldn't be interested in this girl. For one thing, he already knew what she would be like. These girls were essentially the same. To date one was to date them all. He hadn't minded when he was younger, it just meant short relationships. Many short relationships. But he'd grown out of it. He was more selective now—or picky, as his parents would complain. He didn't want to waste his time with more, he just wanted one that was better.

He hadn't been on many set ups over the years, but he knew they were pointless endeavors. Tonight wouldn't be any different.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory Gilmore glanced down at her dress to smooth the skirt as she walked into the living room of her grandmother's house. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man sitting on one of the couches. Thank goodness.

"Hey, when did you get a Mercedes?" she asked.

"A few years ago," the man answered.

She stopped short and her head whipped up in surprise. In a panic, her heart started to pound. Oh God, she walked into the wrong house, she thought, mortified beyond belief. She hadn't written down directions before she came, she could have sworn this was the right house. Her predicament became more embarrassing when she recognized the blond man on the couch.

"Tristan?" she said tentatively.

"Rory." His eyes told her she was out of place, and he asked, "You're Straub Hayden's granddaughter?"

"Technically." Maybe she was in the right house after all. She glanced at the mantel and saw her father and half-sister smiling back at her. Yes, she was in the right house. But this still didn't make sense. She took a slow step into the room and looked around. "You're not my dad."

Tristan shook his head. "Nope." His eyes followed her as she crossed the room toward the second couch.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited to dinner."

"I thought this was a 'family' dinner," she said with air quotes, sitting down and focusing on him. "Are we related?" she asked as she took her cell phone out of the folds of her skirt and started typing with her thumbs.

"I highly doubt it," he answered. "You could say I'm the Mr. Collins to your Eliza Bennett though."

She vaguely frowned down at her phone, not understanding. "What?" She knit her brows down at her phone, where she read a response. "He isn't coming? Why wouldn't he be coming?" She wondered if she got the day wrong.

She finished typing another message and stuck the phone in a pocket of her skirt before she looked around. "I feel like we're waiting for Mr. Body to arrive. Where's Francine?"

Tristan answered, "She went to check something in the kitchen. Either that or she didn't want to make small talk with me."

"I'd assume the latter," she quipped. She'd beg off if the alternate option was to sit in a room with Tristan Dugray. She watched him as he ignored her comment and took a drink. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and maroon tie. His blond hair was short and well groomed, his eyes the same smoky blue they'd been when he was younger. She glanced over at the drink cart and briefly wondered if she should serve herself.

"You should have just told me your grandparents were the Hayden's," he said. "It would have saved you a lot of trouble in high school."

Confused and a little offended, Rory asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Part of your appeal was you were from the wrong side of the tracks."

She sat up straighter. "I'm a Gilmore. That isn't the wrong side of the tracks." She glared, daring him to argue.

"What's the name of the town where you grew up?"

"Stars Hollow," she answered without hesitation.

"Yeah, that's the wrong side of the tracks," he said with an annoying smirk. "Call it youthful rebellion on my part."

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "The marvels of the teenaged boy's mind," she drawled, shaking her head. "You sure know what makes a girl worth pursuing."

Just then, they heard footsteps on the wood floor growing closer. A moment later, Francine Hayden entered the room. She was wearing a navy skirt that went just past her knees with a white blouse. She glanced from Tristan to Rory. "Oh, you're here. Tristan, I'd like you to meet my—granddaughter," she said with a slight grimace, "Rory—"

"Gilmore," Tristan finished for her with a nod.

"We already know each other," Rory said, choosing to ignore the woman's near inability to claim her.

"We were acquainted," Tristan said resolutely. He kept his eyes on Francine, rather than Rory as he corrected her.

Rory explained further, "We were classmates at Chilton—it's not far from here."

Francine's smile wavered, but she recovered. "Of course." It sounded to Rory that the information was new to the woman.

In a determined voice, she asked, "When is Dad getting here? He is coming, isn't he? This is a family dinner, after all."

"He actually couldn't make it," Francine answered. She headed for a vacant chair, but stopped when the phone rang. "Excuse me a moment," she said. She walked out of the room and stopped at a table just outside the entrance to answer the phone.

Rory's attention returned to Tristan. "Why would she invite you to a family dinner?"

"Because it isn't a family dinner," he answered, brows furrowed as though she should know.

"Then what is it?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No," she said impatiently.

"Your grandmother is setting you up," he said. "With me."

That couldn't be right. "Why?"

"You really don't know?"

"If I did, would I be asking?"

Tristan hesitated a second before he shrugged nonchalantly. "The usual reasons. You're thirty and available. Maybe she's ready for great-grandchildren."

That was a laughable idea. She snorted and shook her head. "I know the _normal_ reasons for set ups. But there is nothing normal about this. Francine could care less about my relationship status." Rory tilted her head toward the entrance as she said it. "And I see no reason she'd care whether or not I ever have kids."

With a perplexed expression, he asked, "Are you two in the middle of a fight or something?"

"More like a lifelong estrangement."

They could hear Francine having a slightly heated exchange with the caller out in the hallway. She explained, "They're old school friends. I thought she would like to see him since he's back in Hartford."

Rory glanced at her companion. "I don't think she knew we went to school together until five minutes ago. Why could she possibly want to set us up?"

Tristan didn't get to answer before Francine rejoined them. "Your father is able to make it after all," she told Rory as she went to her seat. "He'll be here as soon as he can."

The three of them sat in relative silence for a few minutes.

"The weather's been unusually warm," Rory commented, fishing for a safe conversation.

"Has it?" Tristan asked. "It's been a long time since I've been in Hartford this time of year."

Rory wanted to ask a follow up question, but refrained from doing so.

Francine asked her, "How is Emily doing?"

"Fine," Rory answered. After a few more minutes of awkward silence, she turned to Tristan. She was about to ask him where he'd been, but didn't get the chance when the doorbell rang. Francine excused herself and got up to greet her son in the foyer.

As soon as they were alone again, Rory quickly told Tristan, "Don't help her."

"Help her do what?" he asked.

"Set us up. If she knew anything about either of us, she'd know this will never work. Do not make it easy for her."

"Fine, let's make it hard," he said with a shrug.

She scowled. "Don't be lewd."

"I wasn't. Your mind jumped there pretty quickly though. Sex starved these days, Mary?"

"Don't call me that," she said, ignoring his question.

"How do you plan to make this . . . difficult for her?" he asked.

"We both know how these things go. They're torture sessions."

"_For_ you? Or because of you?"

She went on, "Let her lead the conversation like she's supposed to. There must be something about you she think's I'd appreciate, which goes to show how little she knows."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are all the books good?"

Rory, not catching his meaning, knit her brows. "What?"

"Are the books good after you've judged them by their covers?"

She rolled her eyes and stood. "Trust me. I know enough, which helps to figure out the rest."

He sat his drink down on a lamp table and stood as well. "You don't know anything. And you only remember what you want."

She took a few steps to the end of the coffee table and stopped. "I remember a little boy crying by a piano."

Tristan stepped over to face her. "You were the one to cry."

She gave him a quick once over—his good looks were far from faded. Her heart sped up slightly as she tilted her head up to meet his eye. "Hardly a surprise."

He nodded sarcastically. "Afraid of all those strong feelings you had for me? I understand your need to run away, I'm a real heartbreaker."

"Maybe to the bimbos willing to date you," she retorted. "Blame your family tree. It's probably not your fault you can only get girls who'll settle for being your status symbol."

"Your tongue is still sharp. That's never going to land you a man. Is that what's making you so bitter?"

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by her father. His hair was as dark brown as his mothers, though wavy. And he barely looked a day over forty.

"Hey, kiddo," Christopher said, beaming at Rory.

"Hi, Dad," she said, turning to greet him with a quick smile.

He looked to the blond. "Who's your friend?"

She looked around the room as though there wasn't anyone else there. "Oh, you must mean Tristan."

She could feel his eyes on her as he stared her down.

"Hi, Christopher Hayden, nice to meet you."

Tristan turned his attention to the older man to shake the hand offered. "Tristan Dugray. It's nice to meet you too, sir."

"She's trying to set us up," Rory hissed to her father.

"Who?" Christopher asked.

"Me and him." She jerked her head in Tristan's direction.

"I have a name," he said dryly.

"Are you sure?" Christopher asked doubtfully.

"That's what he thinks."

"I still have a name."

"Do you want me to get you out of it?" Christopher asked.

"It's fine, I've survived set ups before." She glanced at Tristan and back to her father. "And I can handle him."

Francine paused at the door. "Dinner is ready, if everyone wants to move to the dining room."

Rory and Christopher followed his mother to a long table with eight chairs. They sat down across from Tristan, while Francine took her place at the head.

As the maid brought out their salads, Christopher took it upon himself to get the ball rolling. "Gigi just took a big math test a couple days ago. She's worried about how she did."

"I'm sure she did fine," Rory said. "Did she study?"

"Night and day."

"She's such a bright girl," Francine said with a smile.

"Yes she is," Christopher agreed.

Then she remembered she had a guest and added, "Gigi is Christopher's other daughter."

Tristan addressed Rory, "Your sister."

"Obviously."

Christopher asked, "So Tristan, what is it you do?"

Rory looked up sharply and said, "Don't answer that."

He looked perplexed at her demand, but then seemed amused.

Christopher looked confused as well and leaned over to whisper to Rory, "What are you doing?"

"Making her work for it," she whispered back. In her regular voice, she continued, "I mean, I'm sure Francine would like to tell us, since Tristan is her guest."

The woman elusively answered, "Oh, well, he just returned from Bahrain a few weeks ago."

Rory looked at Tristan with brows raised in—God help her—interest. "Bahrain?"

He nodded his consensus, but continued eating his salad without elaborating.

"Really, doing what?" Christopher asked.

Rory kicked him under the table to remind him who to direct his question toward. Tristan glanced at Rory for permission. She shook her head and looked at Francine, actually hoping for the answer this time.

When Francine noticed that all eyes were on her, she didn't answer immediately. She seemed to be mulling it over as she chewed her salad. Rory figured she didn't know, but Tristan appeared openly confused that Francine wasn't answering. Did she actually know? Rory wasn't sure anymore.

"Working," Tristan said, facing Christopher and Rory again. "I was working."

Rory wondered what 'work' it was. And then felt annoyed for wondering. She chalked it up to instinct.

"You went to Bahrain a few years ago, didn't you?" Christopher asked her.

She gave a quick nod. "To cover Arab Spring."

"That happened before I got there," Tristan said.

"Christopher's always telling me all the places where Rory is traveling," Francine said eagerly, as though she was proud of herself for remembering something about her disaffected granddaughter. "She's a reporter."

"Correspondent," Rory corrected without thinking.

"Is there a difference?" Tristan asked.

She looked him in the eye to answer, "Yes." Then she returned to her plate.

Francine added, "You're both quite worldly, when you think about it."

"Did you hear that, Dad," Rory muttered under the pretense of wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Tristan and I have something in common, clearly we belong together. The trademark of a set up."

Christopher leaned toward her to whisper, "Don't worry, I've got your back." Speaking to everyone in the dining room again, he said, "Tell me, Rory, how's Logan doing?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at his choice of diversion. "What?"

"Logan?" Francine asked.

From the other side of the table, Tristan observed the other three silently, no doubt trying to comprehend the unusual family dynamic.

Christopher nodded and continued, "Yeah, Logan Huntzberger. I'm sure you've heard of him." He glanced from his mother to Tristan.

"The last name sounds vaguely familiar," Tristan said. "So maybe I should know."

"I'd say so, the Huntzberger's are very influential," Christopher said. "Logan is in line to run the family's newspaper empire."

"Dad," Rory said in dismay, shaking her head down at her plate.

"Oh I know he went to work for another company, but I'm sure his dad won't let someone else run the family business."

"Of course his father has a right to keep things in the family," Francine said quickly, causing heads to turn her direction. She hastened to add, "But every case is different, we shouldn't assume anything."

Rory looked at the woman as though she was crazy. What was she rambling about?

Tristan turned his attention back to Rory like a lion who just found a mouse to play with. "Don't be shy," he said with a grin. "Tell us all about Mr. Wonderful."

"He's a great guy," Christopher answered for her with a nod, which just made Tristan smile wider. "I couldn't ask for better for my daughter."

"I hadn't realized you were seeing him again," Francine said with a slight cringe.

"I'm sure there're lots of things you don't realize about me," Rory murmured.

Christopher shot her a look as an unspoken plea for patience towards his mother. Then he proceeded to dig the hole deeper. "They're pretty serious. It's no secret Logan bought a ring."

"Dad, no," she whispered harshly. She hadn't believed the night could get more uncomfortable.

"It sounds like the two of you were made for each other," Tristan commented.

Rory looked at him, disbelieving. "How? You don't even know him."

"I connected a couple dots."

Her face warmed angrily. He only had two dots available. "Unconnect them," she said, her tone steely, her eyes foreboding.

He remained composed, but his eyes shined with restrained glee. After a staring contest that lasted a few seconds, he relented by raising his glass and saying, "Congratulations on the engagement. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the announcement." She occupied herself by taking a drink of water as Tristan turned his attention back to Christopher. "I guess it was pretty easy for you to give Huntzberger her hand."

Rory glanced at her father in time to see his eyes cloud for a second.

"Uh, no, actually," he said. "He asked Rory's mom—which he should have, she's the one who raised her."

Jumping to the defense of her son, Francine said, "Chris was so young. He had things he wanted to do when Lorelai decided to have Rory."

"Mom," Christopher said with a groan.

Rory was silent, but her eyes flashed to Francine furiously. She clenched her jaw tightly to hold back a retort. She wasn't sixteen years old, no one could ask her to go to the next room while the adults argued about ancient history. But she could leave of her own accord. She sat her napkin down on her plate and stood.

"I'm going home now." She turned to Christopher. "I'll talk to you later," she said before exiting the dining room.

She walked through the house, hoping her father wouldn't try to stop her. She retrieved her jacket and purse from the coat rack and let herself out. When she heard the door close a second time, she didn't turn around or slow down.

"Weirdest set up I've ever been on," Tristan said from behind her. "The role reversal was an interesting twist for me—not that you can appreciate it, ironically. You made me look rude in front of your dad though."

"What does it matter?" she asked, spinning around to face him and blocking his path. "You'll never see him again."

"Never say never. Some people don't recover from a bad first impression."

"Don't worry about it. After tonight, you won't cross his mind ever again."

In a half a second, she thought she saw his eyes narrow. "That's because he'll be too busy dreaming about Huntzberger, I could never compete," he said sarcastically. "Just a head's up though, it seemed like he's more excited about your upcoming nuptials than you—but maybe I was reading the situation wrong. Hey, do you need someone to draw up a pre—"

"Will you stop?" she interrupted. "We aren't even—." She stopped herself. It wasn't Tristan's business.

"Aren't what?"

She shook her head, physically and mentally. It didn't matter, _she_ wasn't going to see him again either. "Nothing. Never mind." She continued down the sidewalk and through the gate. When she got to her silver Volt, she pulled out her keys, but hesitated. She sighed at her guilty conscience. "Hey, Tristan."

He stopped too and looked at her from his own car, which was parked in front of her. "What?"

"Sorry . . . about all that. You didn't know what you walked into."

He regarded her for a second before he responded, "To be fair, you still don't know."

Momentarily confused, she continued, "I don't usually make set ups that challenging."

"How many of those have led to lifelong companionship?"

"None," she answered without having to think about it.

"So what's the difference?"

"I guess there isn't," she admitted. Before she let him leave, she had to ask, "What were you doing in Bahrain?"

She thought she saw him smile ever so slightly before answering, "I was working."

"At what?"

"My job." He opened his door and just barely glanced back at her. "Good night, Rory. It was nice to see you again—sort of."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, Rory pulled into the driveway and parked next to Luke's green truck. She headed to the house and let herself in. "Mom?" she called.

"Kitchen," Lorelai answered.

Rory walked the short distance to the room and found her mother examining items from the refrigerator, which was hanging open. There was a pot of coffee on the counter, Rory picked it up and gave it a sniff. "Is this still good?"

"Yeah, Luke made it before he went to bed," Lorelai answered. "So how was dinner with the Hayden's?" She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. "You're back early."

Rory poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table with a sigh. "It was possibly the weirdest night of my life."

Skepticism covered Lorelai's face a she looked up from two cartoons of Chinese food. "That can't be true. You've been to hundreds of Friday night dinners at the Gilmore house of horrors. Surely one of them tops tonight."

Rory blew on her coffee before taking a sip. She shook her head. "No. Tonight was weird in completely random ways. I don't even know where to start."

"How about the beginning," Lorelai suggested, tossing a tub of sour cream in the trash.

"Okay, Dad wasn't even invited."

"Why not? Francine is his mom."

"I know. It was so weird. Because without him, it was just me and Francine and—get this—Tristan."

"Tristan who?"

"Dugray. From Chilton—well, he left before we graduated."

Lorelai thought that over. "To sing on Broadway?'

Rory shot her a confused look. "What? No, to go to military school."

"Oh, well that's probably a lot like Broadway, but without the singing. So why was he there?"

"Military school? Because he got himself into trouble."

"No, why was he at dinner tonight?"

"To be set up."

"With who? Francine? I didn't know she liked them so young. But to each her own."

"No, he was there to be set up with me."

Lorelai's head shot out of the refrigerator to frown at her daughter. "Francine wanted to set you up?"

Rory nodded. "Apparently."

"And with a guy from Chilton?"

"She wasn't even aware of that connection. But why would she want to set me up in the first place? She's never taken an interest in me before. And why with Tristan of all people? She couldn't have gotten it more wrong."

"To be fair, Mom is wrong all the time, too."

"Yeah, but it's different with her."

"How?"

Rory rocked her head back and forth a little and sat her mug down. "There's usually some tiny sliver of potential in the guys Grandma picks out. There's always a chance I _might_ like them. But this was very clear cut. Francine found the one I know I don't."

"What makes you so sure?"

Rory shrugged. "Because I do. I already know him. And I know I don't like ninety-seven percent of him."

"Uh-oh," Lorelai said, throwing away the last of the expired food and closing the refrigerator. She took a seat next to her daughter.

"What?" Rory said, picking her cup back up.

"That leaves three percent."

"So? That's a very tiny percentage."

"But you're Rory. You're the one who focuses on the three percent."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're cursed with the ability to see what others don't—good in people. Even the mostly bad ones."

"Don't worry. Tristan keeps the good hidden—I'm pretty sure he's only let it show on accident. He keeps it on lockdown."

Lorelai shook her head. "But you've seen it."

"Only briefly. I was at the right place at the right time. I guess it'd be the wrong place and time from his point of view."

"I don't know, he sounds like a real fixer upper. I know you can't resist guys like that."

"What? I don't fix people."

"Please, you dated Jess," Lorelai deadpanned.

"So?"

"So, a girl like you only dates a guy like Jess because she thinks she can be the one to fix him."

"That is not why I dated him. I liked him the way he was."

Lorelai raised a disbelieving brow.

"I didn't fix him," Rory insisted.

"He can function in society now."

"That's because he grew up, not because of anything I said or did."

"Remember," Lorelai continued, covering Rory's hand with her own, "with great power comes great responsibility."

Rory snatched her hand away to put it back around her coffee cup.

Lorelai thought everything over a little more. "Maybe you should give him a chance."

"Jess?"

"No," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes. "Tristan."

"Why?"

"It might give Mom an aneurysm."

"Why? She's been dying for me to settle down with someone like him for years. Success would make her happy."

Lorelai looked at Rory a bit patronizingly. "Aw, you're so naïve. It's cute."

Not knowing what her mother was talking about, Rory shook her head and got up to rinse her empty coffee cup. "Is there anything in the refrigerator worth eating? I left before the salad course was finished."

"There's some pizza in there that's good for a few more days," Lorelai answered as she stood up to leave the kitchen. "Do you know how long you'll be home?"

"No. I'm here until further notice. I have some editing I'll be working on."

"Okay. Drop by the inn for lunch tomorrow if you feel like getting out of the house."

"Will do. Good night, Mom."

"Night."


	2. II

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

**Acknowledgements**: Thank you again to my consultants, Anybody Anywhere and TL22.

**II**

The next morning, Tristan was sitting in his office, reading the paper before he started his day, when a dark haired man stopped at the door and glanced around the office. He took a step toward the desk, but didn't sit in one of the two empty chairs.

Taking notice, Tristan put the paper down and sat up straighter in his large swivel chair. "Morning, sir."

"Tristan," the man said with a nod.

"I met with Edward Morgan yesterday afternoon. I got the account."

"Good. How did last night go?"

Tristan paused for half a beat. "Oh, uh, fine. Did you know Straub and Francine's granddaughter is Rory Gilmore?"

"Gilmore," the man said in thought. "The Gilmore's I know are Richard and Emily. Richard was an insurance man. They do have a daughter."

"Lorelai?"

"Possibly."

Tristan nodded. "Rory is her daughter. Actually, her name is Lorelai, too."

Apparently not interested in the anecdotal information, the man asked, "Have you called her yet?"

"No, was I supposed to?"

"Yes. If Francine's busy fussing over you and her granddaughter, maybe she'll finally leave Abram alone," the man said, glancing out the window behind Tristan's desk. "You don't actually have to marry the girl."

As though leading her on was an option, Tristan thought. Without getting his hopes up, he tentatively asked, "Do you have time for coffee?"

The older man shook his head. "I have to get to my office."

Tristan barely nodded and looked away. "Another time." He quickly thought some more, knowing he only had a minute. "What do you know about the Huntzberger's?"

The question was rewarded with the man's full attention. "Why? Mitchum has a couple newspapers overseas, so you'd be an asset to him. Did he contact you?"

Tristan blinked. He took an extra second before he shook his head. "No, the name just came up last night. Rory—she's a journalist."

"Oh, she works for Mitchum?"

"I'm not sure."

"That'll be something you can ask her when you take her to dinner."

Tristan shook his head. "She won't want to." And he had yet to think of a scenario where she would.

"Why not?"

"We met before last night. She went to Chilton."

The man sighed in disappointment. "Burned that bridge already? You always did lose interest too easily. Now it's coming back to haunt us."

"I never dated Rory."

"For lack of trying, I assume," he said dryly. At Tristan's silence, the man raised a brow. "No? Interesting."

"That's not the word I'd use," Tristan muttered.

"I need to go," Mason Dugray said as he turned to leave his son's office. "Call your mother."

When his father had gone, Tristan picked up his phone. While calling his mother was on his to-do list anyway, he wondered if she'd be at home this morning. If she was, there was a good chance she was busy entertaining a group of women to talk about fund raisers for the Hartford Performing Arts Society. They raised money for the organization like it was going out of style.

After a few rings, Tristan was surprised to hear a voice that didn't belong to the maid.

"Hello," Cecilia Dugray answered.

"Mom, hi," he said. He continued with the obligatory pleasantries, "How are you?"

"I'm good. How was last night? Did you like Lorelai's daughter?"

He incredulously asked, "You knew it was Rory?"

"Is that her name? I thought she was named after her mother."

"She is. You knew who I was meeting and never told me?"

"I'm sure you already knew."

"I did not." He shook his head in exasperation. "Do you know if she's seeing some Huntzberger guy?"

"I wouldn't call Logan Huntzberger _some_ guy," Cecilia said, affronted. Tristan rolled his eyes. "That was years ago. But she had the opportunity to marry him."

Bingo.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later in the evening, Emily Gilmore sat in her living room, nodding and smiling in the right places as she listened to her daughter tell an endless story about a silly meeting she'd attended the prior weekend. Emily didn't know how the little town had enough to talk about to hold regular meetings. Surely the citizens had better things to do with their time. Lorelai was—thankfully—interrupted when the doorbell rang. A minute later, Rory walked in.

"Hi Grandma," she said in greeting, taking a seat next to her mother.

"Hello Rory," Emily said with a bigger smile.

Rory looked perfect in a slate grey skirt and dark purple silk blouse. Emily wished she would do something with those bangs though—grow them out or cut them—just choose one. But Rory insisted on letting them hang at the side of her face, anchored behind her ear.

"The maid just informed us dinner is ready," Emily said. "Shall we?"

The three Gilmore women went to the dining room and took their seats at the table. When the maid brought out their salads, Lorelai commented to Rory, "Last night was an exception to the rule. You have to stay for more than just salad tonight."

"What happened last night?" Emily asked.

"I had dinner at Francine's," Rory answered. "With, uh, Dad."

"Oh, well that's nice."

"Yeah," Rory answered before turning to her salad.

"And?" Lorelai prodded. "Was there anyone else?"

"I would assume Gigi," Emily said, barely looking up from her salad—why were there artichoke hearts in it? That was not what she specified when she wrote this evening's menu. She'd have to look into this later.

"Actually," Rory said, looking back up, "she wasn't. Tristan Dugray was there."

"They knew each other from Chilton," Lorelai added.

Emily thought about the name. "Is he related to Cecilia Dugray?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"She's on the board for the symphony orchestra, of course. She's quite passionate about it. Richard used to do business with Janlen." She was careful not to let her mind linger at the thought of her late husband. "That's Cecilia's father-in-law. The Dugray's are a very fine family."

With an unpleasant glimmer in her eye, Lorelai pointedly asked, "Wasn't it nice of Francine to set him up with Rory? Tristan, not that Janlen guy. He sounds old—but perfectly nice."

Emily looked at her daughter sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Lorelai continued with a nod. "Francine wanted to set them up."

"Mom," Rory said patiently. "It was just dinner."

Lorelai faced Emily. "Isn't this great? Now you don't have to go to all that trouble finding suitable men for Rory. Francine can help in that department."

Emily's stomach clenched suddenly.

"It can be a contest! Whoever makes the match that sticks can win a prize," Lorelai went on with a smile.

Rory didn't look thrilled. "Believe me, Francine already lost. She doesn't know anything about me. How would she be able to find someone compatible for me?" She quickly shook her head with a screwed up face. "And I don't need a man—or for anyone to find me one."

Of course she did, Emily thought. The girl never slowed down and stayed in town long enough to meet someone on her own. Which was just as well, this way Emily could supervise the process. Quality control was something Rory certainly never learned from her own mother.

"Really Grandma," Rory went on after she finished her salad. "You have nothing to worry about. Francine found the last guy I ever wanted to see again. She got it really wrong."

"You're sure?" Emily asked, relieved.

Rory nodded. "Tristan was awful in high school."

"How do you mean?"

"He always asked me out, for one thing. I kept telling him no, but he was so stubborn about it."

"You weren't interested?"

"Never. I had a boyfriend, and Tristan didn't even like me."

"Don't be silly, of course he liked you."

Rory frowned as she sat back to allow the maid to put her dinner plate in front of her. "Why?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Emily asked, offended Rory even suggested something about herself.

But she shook her head. "He really didn't. He walked around like he was God's gift to women, but he was just a jerk."

That didn't bode well with Emily. This foolish young man had clearly wanted what he couldn't have. And now Francine was offering him a second chance. "What does Tristan do?"

Rory blushed. "I don't actually know. I wouldn't let him say. I wanted to hear it from Francine, since she wanted us to meet—that's what you always do."

"Good, you did exactly right," Emily said. She was lucky to have such an astute granddaughter. Nothing got by her.

"Oh, and he always called me Mary," Rory said, remembering another offense. "He was so obnoxious."

"Why would he call you that?"

Lorelai looked up from her salmon and answered, "Because she was a goody two shoes. I blame the books."

"You'd have called me Mary if we went to high school together, wouldn't you?" Rory asked her mother dryly.

"Absolutely."

They continued to eat their meal for a few minutes, though Emily continued to think. Francine didn't have the connections Emily did, and she definitely didn't have the authority to make any matches involving Rory. She didn't know who _Emily's_ granddaughter would like. She was sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Without realizing it, Emily's eyebrows furrowed together until her head hurt. "Something isn't right," she announced. She could feel it, things were off with this story. "I want to know what Francine is up to."

"It's not a big deal," Rory insisted. "Last night didn't work. No harm, no foul."

Rory was too unsuspecting, she didn't know the schemes people were capable of. It wasn't her fault, she saw so many terrible things in the world for her job, she didn't expect anything bad from her own relatives—especially ones she hardly knew. Emily was much shrewder with these matters. "I'm going to go make a few calls," she said as she stood and left the dining room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Did you have to bring up last night?" Rory asked her mother fifteen minutes later. The maid came in to take their plates away and trade them for chocolate soufflé. The rest of Emily's food remained on her plate, getting colder by the minute.

"What else were we supposed to talk about?" Lorelai said innocently.

"Anything—the last movie you saw, Kirk's new colony of bees, the weather."

"It has been warm out, hasn't it? And I already told her the story about Kirk, but she didn't appreciate it. Maybe I didn't tell it right."

"It's not like there's a conspiracy theory involving me and Tristan. Do you really think Francine is some sort of evil mastermind?"

"You can never tell who's going to end up being a mastermind. Sometimes it's the person you least expect," Lorelai said.

"I hope Grandma doesn't hear about what Dad said last night."

"Why? What did he say?"

Rory shook her head, her eyes cast upward. "He implied that I'm with Logan."

Lorelai looked at her daughter with a slightly disgruntled expression.

"He just said it to deflect from the set up. I wish he'd made up a name though."

"No kidding," Lorelai said. "Maybe it's time you get a man so Chris has a more current name to reference."

"I don't need a man," Rory said again, more impatient this time. "I don't even have time for one."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to cut into your blog time."

"I have to clear my head after big stories," she said.

"Mm-hmm," Lorelai muttered.

"It could have been a misunderstanding," Rory said musingly. "It could be Tristan just _thought_ it was a set up. It wasn't the first thing that came to my mind when I saw him."

"I guess we'll find out for sure after Emily's phone tree gives her the run down."

"_Or_—"

"Or what?" Lorelai said excitedly. "I love an 'or'. It's always the better option."

Rory finished chewing the last warm bite before saying, "I could just go directly to the source to find out myself."

"What source?"

"I was behind Tristan after we left Francine's, so I saw where he lives."

Lorelai gasped with a smile. "Can I come?"

"No," Rory answered. "You will go home. Luke will be waiting for you."

"Fine," Lorelai said with a pout.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not long thereafter, Rory parked in the driveway she'd seen Tristan pull into the night before. She was in front of a mid-sized brick house outside the city limits. She got out and walked up to the porch. She pressed the doorbell and waited, but no one came to the door. She pressed the button again and tried to look through the front window. She couldn't see anyone inside, but somebody had to be there for the lights to be on. After another minute, she knocked instead.

A porch light came on and the door opened. Tristan poked his head out. When he saw who his visitor was, he opened the door enough to lean against the frame. He was much more casually dressed than the night before, in a pair of well-worn jeans and a white A-shirt.

"Your doorbell is broken." She pressed the button to demonstrate.

"I'll add it to my list." He looked her up and down and suspiciously asked, "Did my dad call you?"

"No. Why?"

He waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. "Never mind. Do we have a date I didn't know about?"

"No, I was at my grand—uh Emily Gilmore's—house for dinner."

"Ah, your real grandmother?"

"Yes. Since I was in the area, I thought I'd stop by."

"What for?"

"To talk about last night. Dinner was weird—"

"Partly because of you."

"—and I want to know what was going on."

"I actually have some questions myself," he said, opening the door wider. She followed him to the kitchen, passing a small dining room to their left, sans table, then a staircase that descended perpendicular to the front door. Hidden behind the stairs was the kitchen.

There were two rooms adjoining the kitchen. Rory deduced the larger room with a fireplace was the living room. Judging by the windows in the other, she took it to be a sun room. Other than the four barstools sitting around an island in the kitchen, Rory didn't see any furniture in the house. The walls were in need of new paint, and one had water stains. There were light bulbs in sockets, but no fixtures. The floors were all wood, and if she had to guess, she'd say they were brand new.

She pulled a stool out so she could sit down at the island, which was obviously newly installed as well. What was Tristan Dugray doing in this house? She wasn't one to talk, having lived in a potting shed at one point of her life. But that was different, this was Tristan. Why wouldn't he live in a Hartford mansion? Being inquisitive was a job hazard, but she had to be cautious. He'd probably misinterpret questions as interest in him. Maybe he was in real estate and planned to flip this place for a profit. That made sense, she decided.

Tristan took a spot across from her, leaning back against the counter. When Rory's gaze fell to him, he explained, "It's what they call a fixer upper. It'll look better after it's—"

"Fixed," she said with a nod. But was he going to do the fixing himself? Surely not, he probably worked in an office. He'd get someone else to do the manual work. And that still didn't explain what he was going to do with it when it was fixed. "Wouldn't it have been easier to buy one that wasn't falling apart?"

"Where's the fun in that? It already looks better than it did a few weeks ago. Some rooms had old carpet. And under that—mold." He looked around the house slowly and then back to Rory. "I thought it had potential. Sometimes you have to look close to find it."

Rory remembered her mother saying something similar—about him. She shook off the thought. "It has character. But it's small, considering what you're probably used to."

"It's bigger than anywhere I've lived in the past fourteen years." So that was that, he _was_ going to live here. "Luckily, I don't feel the need to compensate for anything."

"I see."

"So, last night. What's the deal with you and Francine? Why aren't you simpatico?"

Rory sighed. "It's a long story. Well, it's not too long, but it's old."

Tristan silently waited for explanation anyway.

"I'm going to need coffee if you expect me to tell you my family's deep dark secrets."

"Sure," he complied.

She watched him as he turned to reach for a cabinet. She caught a glimpse of ink on his upper arm and read USN. She never got a look at his arms under his school uniform, but she could see now how muscular they were.

He transferred a cup of water to a small coffee maker and sat the cup in its place. He pressed a button and turned back. Noticing Rory's unhappy expression, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"What the hell is that?"

"A coffee maker," he answered. "Does your halo get tarnished when you use words like that?"

She continued, "That's only going to make one cup."

"How many do you need?"

"More than one."

"Won't it keep you up all night?"

She shook her head. "I have an extremely high tolerance, second only to my mother."

"Fine, so when you finish this cup, I'll make you another—easy fix," he said as he put the full cup in front of her. He shook his head. "You're going to be up until dawn." But he still took down another cup to get her refill ready.

She held her coffee up to blow on the hot liquid and took a sip before she started. "All right, so my mom had me when she was sixteen and she didn't marry my dad, like my grandparents wanted."

"Hence Francine's defending your dad for not raising you."

"Mm-hmm." Rory was silent for a few seconds. Then, "I didn't even meet her and Straub until I was sixteen. At least, it was the first time since I was in diapers."

"How did that go?"

"I definitely underwhelmed Straub. He and Grandpa almost got into a fight," she said. "And at one point, my parents just disappeared."

"I heard Richard passed away a couple years ago, sorry for your loss."

"Thanks. Grandma really misses him."

"What about you?"

"Yeah, me too." As she sipped her coffee, she thought back to the horrible day she'd gotten the call from her mother, she'd been out of the country to cover a story. It'd been another heart attack, Lorelai told her, this this time, his heart couldn't take it.

A few seconds ticked by in silence before Tristan asked, "So what do you know about Straub? I mean, other than that he was an ass."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I got the impression you never liked the guy."

Rory shook her head. "I didn't. You just gave away half my answer."

"Oh," he said with a grin, trading her empty cup for a full one.

She shrugged. "Grandma—sorry, Emily—said he was brilliant. But an ass."

"That sounds about right."

"If he'd gotten his way, I wouldn't be here," she said meaningfully, staring out a window above the sink. "Lucky for me, my mother doesn't let anyone tell her what to do." She looked back at him. "Straub said she seduced my dad. It was all her fault."

"As someone who's been a sixteen year old boy, trust me, the seduction probably didn't take much."

Rory smiled a little and nodded. "It's ridiculous. But he always blamed my mom for my dad not going to Princeton and working for him."

"Ah-ha," Tristan said with a slow nod. "But if they didn't get married and he didn't raise you, what stopped him from doing those things?"

She pointed a finger at him. "Exactly. It wasn't her fault. Anyway, all my grandparents used to be good friends, but when my mom _decided_ to have me, it became a huge point of contention—to put things mildly." She shrugged. "So I've never really known the Hayden's."

"Then you're right, it doesn't make sense for Francine to set you up."

"Are you sure that's what she was doing?"

"Positive."

"Maybe you misunderstood the invitation."

"I didn't. She kept telling me I needed to meet her granddaughter. But she never mentioned who her granddaughter was."

"Why would she do that?" Rory asked, then she frowned. "Wait, how do you know them?"

Tristan stared at her for a couple seconds before glancing at her cup. "Are you ready for your next refill?"

She checked the cup, which she'd drained, and handed it over. "Sure."

He traded cups and turned to the counter again. "Family friends," he said in answer to her question. "You know how these old families are. They don't want any inferior blood mucking things up," he said as he pressed the start button and turned back.

"Heaven forbid I embarrass any estranged family members over who I consort with," Rory said dryly. She watched the fresh coffee fall in a stream into the cup. "If Francine knew about that," she said, gesturing at his coffee maker, "nothing else would have mattered. She'd have known we could never be together."

"Because my coffee maker doesn't enable your addiction problem? I thought it was because of the media baron," he said, and a slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The reporting must be easy for you with him in such high places."

Rory sat her cup down and crossly said, "I wanted to be a foreign correspondent my whole life." She felt confident sharing that information, having attained it. "You know I wrote for the _Franklin_."

"The what?"

She looked at him exasperatedly. "The school paper at Chilton."

Halfhearted, he lifted his palms and lifted his broad shoulders.

"My career has _never_ had anything to do with Logan or his family."

Tristan was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Your dad was using outdated information last night, wasn't he?"

She sighed and nodded. With her elbows propped on the counter, she eyed him over the top of her coffee cup. "You don't turn a deaf ear to the gossip mill, do you?"

"Nope, and it's only ten minutes away." He jerked his head in the general direction of Hartford.

"Great," she said flatly.

"The way some people talk, you'd think the Hamburglar got down on one knee yesterday."

She wished she was more surprised. "Is that the only thing that comes up when my name is mentioned?" she asked, frustrated. "It was such a long time ago and I've done a lot since then."

"I'm sure you have, but does it make good gossip?" he asked. "Did you really tell him no in front of hundreds of people?"

"No," she said, adding an eye roll for effect.

"So why didn't you marry him?"

"How is it your business?" Rory asked with narrowed eyes.

"It isn't," he said quickly. "But after so many years, the rumors get distorted. I'll have to draw my own conclusions."

She didn't say anything, she just glared.

"Impotence?"

"No." When he waited patiently, she exhaled heavily. "Fine, I was too young. He was ready for our relationship to move forward, but I was ready to start my career." Not wanting him to pry any more, she took charge of the interview. "So if everyone is friends, I'm sure your family tried to talk you out of going last night."

"Nope."

She couldn't help but ask, "Why not?"

Tristan's brow arched inquisitively. "Why would they?"

"Because it doesn't matter who I'm related to or where I went to school. Here's a little secret," she said, leaning in as though she was going to whisper it, "since I have a career of my own, your parents won't even be impressed with my full court bow—"

He held out a hand, like he was directing traffic. "Stop. When would you ever need to do a full court bow?" he deadpanned. "Wait no, let me guess. King Mitchum?"

"No, it was for a debutante ball," she said, then smiled a little. "Actually, Mitchum's sycophants stop just short of bowing before him."

Tristan tilted his head. "There're us aristocrats and then there's the monarch. We can only hope to serve his majesty," he said. "What's wrong with your career?"

"I travel."

He shrugged. "So? I do too."

"But it isn't practical for the woman," she told him. "No one taught me how to plan parties and croon over a man's accomplishments."

"Because you're busy with your own."

"Yes."

"You're very knowledgeable about these matters."

She smiled grimly. "I've been well-informed by a reliable source. I'm just not a good fit for a guy like you."

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the cabinet again. "And what kind of guy is that?"

She laced her fingers together and put her hands on the counter top. "Privileged. The future of the family business is probably on your shoulders—whether you like it or not," she said. "But you can save the pity party, Richie Rich. It's hard to feel sorry for anyone who's been handed a free ride in life."

Her last sentence didn't appear to sit well with him. After a few seconds he said, "I don't work for my dad. And I didn't run away to avoid any screw ups either."

She frowned. "What?"

"Huntzberger sounds fun," he said flatly. "But don't pigeon hole me with him, it won't work."

"I wasn't—"

He stepped forward to take her cup away.

"Hey, I'm not finished with that."

He dumped the last of her coffee. "Yes you are. It's late."

"Is it your bedtime?" she tried to joke.

"Why, were you hoping to join me?" he asked humorlessly. He rounded the island and took her by the arm, pulling her to her feet.

"No," she said, stumbling a bit as he steered her in the direction of the front door.

"Good, I'd kick you out of bed anyway."

She scoffed. "Yeah right."

He shot her an odd look and tightened his grip. For a split second, she wondered where the bedroom was and if he was going to drag her there. But the moment passed as he opened the door and pushed her out to the porch. "Feel free to go pass judgment on someone else."

"But I wasn't—"

"Have a nice night," he interrupted before closing the door. A second later she was in the dark.

Rory looked at the door, her mouth gaping open.


	3. III

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

**A/N**: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**III**

With her laptop on the table in front of her, Rory read through the hard copy of an article she'd edited that morning. She had a stack she was working on. The first article had to be entirely rewritten, as it was a mess before she got her hands on it. Her revised version was half the length of the original—though all the information was still included. She wanted to recommend the author dust off his copy of Strunge and White.

She finished retyping the article and e-mailed it back, then took a sip of Luke's coffee as she flipped to the next piece. After she pulled the document up on her laptop, she clicked over to a window with the Internet. She checked a few news feeds to see what was happening in the world and picked up her phone to text an editor. She typed up a quick e-mail as well.

When she was finished sending the messages, she didn't continue with revising the next article, instead she opened a new Internet window. She glanced around the diner to make sure no one was paying attention to her. Kirk was busy eating his grilled cheese sandwich and Luke was taking orders at a table across the room. Rory turned her attention back to her laptop and typed USN into her search engine.

It wasn't the first time she'd Googled the initials since Friday night. She'd ignored her nagging curiosity over the weekend, and at first she'd successfully resisted. But by Monday she couldn't stand it anymore. A day later her results weren't any clearer than they'd been before she started. When the bell above the door tinkled, she didn't look up from her search.

"Are you thinking of applying to the University of Southern Nevada?" her mother asked from behind her, peeking over her shoulder to see the computer screen.

Rory jumped and blushed as though she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "No. I was just . . . looking into something."

"Schools?" Lorelai asked as she took a seat at the table.

"No. I don't think so. I'm not sure," Rory said, shaking her head. "I was just trying to figure out what USN might stand for." She scrolled down the list of search results.

"Why do you want to know?"

Rory hesitated before answering, "Because I saw it somewhere. On something."

"On what?"

"Uh, Tristan's arm," she admitted.

"Oh, he has a tattoo," Lorelai said, tucking some of her windblown hair behind her ear.

"Yes."

"Cool." Lorelai looked at the list. "I can't help but notice one of the search results came up more than once. Is he perhaps in the Navy?"

"I don't know," Rory said with a frown. "I can't find a tattoo design that looks like his," she said, clicking to another tab to show her mother.

"No anchor?"

"No."

"How about a nice friendly skull?"

"No. It didn't have chevrons or an eagle, either. His had leaves."

"Leaves?"

"Leaves. Two on each side of a . . . I don't know what was in the middle."

"Maybe he just likes fall."

"Then what does the USN stand for?"

"A girl's initials?"

Rory raised a doubtful brow.

"Ursula?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

Lorelai shrugged and said, "Then you're back at Navy."

Rory bit her lip. She hoped that wasn't true. Military service wasn't generally considered a 'free ride', as she'd called his life. But that would explain why he unceremoniously threw her out of his house.

Lorelai looked around the diner for Luke and waved when she found him. "Can I get some coffee over here?"

"How much have you had today?" he asked from behind the counter. He gave an order to Caesar and picked up a couple plates.

"Only two cups," she said, holding her fingers up in a piece sign to illustrate.

"And how many when you got to the inn?"

"One or two more cups," she admitted. "I can't recall the exact number."

"You're done for the day. It's affecting your brain cells." He sat the plates down at a table and moved to the next to take more lunch orders.

"Come on, I just want one teeny tiny cup of coffee," Lorelai pleaded. "I have to get through the afternoon still."

Luke glanced over as he scribbled on his pad of paper. "I bet if you went to an AA meeting you'd fit right in," he said, putting his pencil behind his ear. "Your life revolves around your next cup of coffee, doesn't it? When you're going to get it, where it's going to come from. That's probably all you think about."

"That is completely untrue. I don't have to think about it, I always know exactly where my next cup is coming from."

"You're wrong today."

"I can always go to Weston's."

"Be my guest," Luke told her before turning his back to wipe down a table.

Lorelai sighed dramatically. In a low voice, she told Rory, "Pay attention to when he goes to the back. I'll just slip behind the counter and help myself."

"He hates when you do that," Rory said without looking away from her screen. When her phone buzzed again, and she picked it up.

"Spousal privilege, he needs to recognize." Lorelai glanced at Rory's phone. "Are you jetting off?"

"Maybe," she answered as she typed a response. She sat the phone down and looked back at her computer screen, taking a turn to sigh. "All military enlistments do last eight years. So if Tristan went to college first and just got back, the timeline does fit."

"Oh, you're still on that?" Lorelai said as she turned back toward the laptop. "You said he went to military school. So everything checks out."

"Until you remember it's Tristan, then it doesn't make sense anymore," Rory said. She shook her head. "Then again, he was working in Bahrain and there _is_ a Navy base there. Maybe you're right. Maybe he was in the Navy."

Lorelai gasped theatrically. "Oh my God, I know who he is. The princess and the marine!"

Rory tore her eyes away from her computer to look at her mother. "What?"

"Yeah," Lorelai said with an eager nod. "I saw the TV movie. Zach Morris was a marine in Bahrain and he fell in love with a princess at the mall, so they snuck out of the country and got married. Then they were on Oprah. And if you're wondering, neither the princess nor the marine jumped on her couch."

Rory didn't say anything as she absorbed her mother's rant. "First off, I'm pretty sure Zach Morris has a real name. Second, if we think Tristan might be in the Navy, then he probably isn't also a marine."

Lorelai's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "Oh, I guess that's true." She sighed. "You know, you could have just asked him about it if you were so interested—"

"I wasn't," Rory interrupted.

"—That's how you usually get information. Not that this investigation isn't fun and all."

"I didn't want him to think I was checking him out," Rory said as she closed her Internet search to return to her work.

"Were you?"

"I caught a glimpse of his physique," she answered evasively. "He was right in front of me."

"And?"

Rory shrugged with careful indifference. "He's okay looking, I guess. If you're into the tall dirty blond types."

Lorelai chuckled lightly. "Dirty." She turned her attention to the diner patron a couple tables away. "Hey Kirk, what are you drinking over there?"

Kirk picked up his cup on instinct. "Coffee."

"Are you going to finish it?"

"Don't bother the customers," Luke said from behind her. She jumped in surprise as he put down a plate with a cheeseburger and French fries in front of her. "And stay away from the counter," he said before he walked away.

Lorelai looked over to Rory as she picked up her burger. "He must have ears like a bat."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later, Emily was sitting out on her back patio with a group of women. They were sipping tea and finalizing details of their upcoming fundraiser for the Hartford Historical Society.

"Emily will be in charge of the wait staff," Nora Henderson said from the other side of the circle. "No one can stagger hors d'oeuvres as well as her."

"Yes of course," Emily agreed. She made a note on a clipboard she was holding before looking over to their youngest member, a pretty blond woman wearing a light pink dress that complimented her fair skin tone. "Quinn, have you confirmed the string quintet? We need them to play through the entire cocktail hour. Last time, the harpist got up and walked out when there were ten whole minutes left. Can you imagine? It was so embarrassing."

"Yes, I spoke with a member of the ensemble, ma'am," Quinn answered. "I also gave them our playlist, and instructions to not stray from it."

"Very good," Emily said approvingly, checking an item on her list.

"That reminds me," Beatrice Atwater said from beside Emily. "You wanted to know about Cecilia Dugray's son didn't you?"

"That's right," Emily said, though not eagerly. She was careful not to let her smile slip. "Tristan."

"I have it on good authority he just returned to Hartford. He's been abroad for four years," Beatrice explained. "He's Rory's age, were you hoping to introduce the two of them since he's back in town?"

"Oh, they would look lovely together," Nora jumped in. "I believe Tristan went to Chilton. That's where Rory went, isn't it? "

"Yes, she did," Emily said, ignoring how much she was suddenly annoyed with her friend. "She was valedictorian of her class. But I couldn't possibly introduce them," she lamented. "Rory doesn't care for him in the least."

"That's such a shame," Beatrice said, disappointed. "She should scoop him up before someone else does. And they would be perfect together."

Emily felt her stomach tighten. That was without a doubt the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. It was ludicrous on several levels. In her opinion, there was only one man who'd ever be perfect for Rory, and she let him get away a long time ago. Lorelai's motherly 'advice' no doubt played into that decision, Emily had always been sure of it. As far as she was concerned, no other man would ever be good enough for her granddaughter. Certainly not this despicable Tristan Dugray.

Staying composed, she asked, "What does he do?"

"He's a lawyer—like all the Dugray men, of course. But he actually works at the Hayden's firm."

"Who are the Hayden's?" Quinn asked.

"Straub and Francine, dear," Nora answered kindly. She turned her attention back to Emily to ask, "Isn't Rory a Hayden?"

"Those are Christopher's parents, yes," Emily answered. _Rory_ was a Gilmore.

"I can't remember," Beatrice said, "did Christopher ever work for Straub?"

"No," Emily answered, her gaze hardening. Evenly, she added, "He never did."

"Just think," Nora said excitedly, "With your families so closely tied now, Tristan and Rory could make it official."

All the blood drained from Emily's face as her mind raced. "Excuse me," she said, standing and setting her clipboard on her chair before walking inside her house.

She grabbed the phone from the table as she continued to Richard's study. She dialed Rory's number and waited impatiently for her to pick up. As she listened to the ringing, her eyes swept around the room—which remained the same as it had when Richard had been living. She looked from the beautiful portrait of Rory to a box on the desk and her heart swelled with pride for her granddaughter. At the same time, she felt contempt for Francine.

When Emily heard the voicemail kick in, she left a message. "Rory, it's your grandmother, and I just heard. Don't worry, Francine will not get away with this," Emily seethed. "She might have thought she could use you, but she was wrong. I will _not_ let her. She has no right. You don't have to go near that Dugray heathen ever again. I just wanted you to know I will take care of it, so stay calm and—"

She was cut off by the beep. "Oh shoot." Emily sighed in displeasure. She walked out of the study and sat the phone back down. They'd been having a perfectly lovely time, she couldn't fathom why Beatrice brought up that insolent boy in the first place. She took a deep breath to compose herself and headed outside to the group of women, ready to get back to the fundraiser details.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan was sitting at a barstool in his kitchen that evening, looking through strips of paint samples. He was facing the opening of the living room, trying to decide which color he should paint the walls. He held up one of the colors and tried to imagine what the whole room would look like. When he heard a knock at the front door, he tossed the paint samples on the counter and got up.

He opened the door to find Rory Gilmore. He was simultaneously happy and annoyed to see her. "You again."

"I just listened to a message from Emily Gilmore, who is in some sort of frenzy. She went on a tangent about how Francine won't get away with this, and how I don't have to go near that heathen anymore," Rory said. "FYI, you're the heathen."

"I always wanted a cool nickname."

"Francine wasn't actually up to something, was she?"

He hesitated for a second, which Rory noticed. She put her hands at her hips and pointedly asked, "Can I come in?"

"If you behave yourself," he said meaningfully, stepping aside. Admittedly, throwing her out probably wasn't the best course of action if he ever hoped to get her to go to dinner with him. But he knew some people needed boundaries. He'd been happy to give her some.

"Is there some reason Francine wanted to set us up that you haven't told me?" she asked from the open space in front of the stairs, where Tristan took a seat. "And don't give me any of that old families stuff."

"Fine," he complied. "A month ago I came back to the States and started working at a respected Hartford law firm."

"Okay," Rory said very slowly. Her eyes narrowed, making her appear confused. He thought he saw her eyes quickly dart to his arm. "Uh, good for you."

"Thanks. Here's the good part. It's Straub's old firm."

"Okay," she said again.

Tristan continued. "My dad has wanted to merge his firm—the one my grandpa used to run—with the Hayden's firm forever. But Straub was never interested."

"Well, he's dead now. Your dad can have it."

Tristan smiled a little. "It's just that easy, huh?"

"Isn't it?"

He shrugged. "It could be. But there's just one thing holding things up. You have an uncle."

"I do?"

"Well, your dad does. Straub's brother—Abram—he still works at the firm, but he's close to retirement. He's really only a figurehead at this point. After Straub died my dad wanted to buy the firm, but Francine talked Abram out of it. She can't make the old guy work forever though. And I work there now, so we're just waiting him out. Then I'll move up to senior partner," Tristan explained.

Rory put her hands on her hips and was silent for a moment. Then, "Law firms . . . that makes you a lawyer."

"So you're an investigative journalist," he said sarcastically.

Again, she didn't say anything for a moment, and definitely glanced at his arm. "Are you in the Navy or not?" she asked, exasperated. It was like the question burst out against her will.

"Technically."

"How can you technically be in the Navy?"

"How is Straub Hayden technically your grandfather?" he countered.

"Fine, you got me. I am, there's no technically. Does that mean your answer is yes?"

He nodded. "I'm in the Judge Advocate General's Corps."

She blinked. "Oh."

"That's the official way of saying military lawyer."

Again, "Oh."

He waited to find out if she had any follow up questions, but she remained silent. He thought it odd for a journalist—who'd clearly done a bit of research—to stay so quiet, but didn't say any more about it. He went on, "Anyway, it won't be too long now. I'll move up and the whole thing will be a done deal."

"You're kind of young, aren't you? You don't have that much experience."

"It's a small firm. And I've done more than the average junior associate."

"So, what," Rory said, "you and your dad are like a big company that buys smaller ones and fires people to save money?"

"No one will lose their job. The office will stay in downtown Hartford, it'll still specialize in international law, but under the umbrella of my dad's firm." He shrugged. "It's not personal, it's business."

"Thanks for the lame platitude."

"It's still true. Dad's been salivating over this for years. I don't think he's been poisoning Abram, but I wouldn't put it past him," Tristan said. "I'll keep an eye out."

"Why does he want it so bad?"

Tristan shrugged again. "Why does anyone want anything? More clients with deep pockets."

"So, what's the big deal? I mean, now I get why Francine knows you. But where do I come in?"

"The Dugray's are moving in and Hayden's will be out," he said, slowly spelling it out for her. This couldn't be that difficult. "Francine's trying to hold on to what—for the time being—is still theirs. She's hoping you'll take one for the team."

"Take one for the team? I'm barely even _on_ her team." Rory started to pace back and forth.

"Right, only technically. She knows she can't stop it anymore. Now we can all call that set up what it was—an act of desperation."

"I can't believe she would do that." Rory stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute, you _knew_ what she was doing the whole time but didn't tell me?"

"And be the bearer of what is clearly good news for you? In the interest of my personal safety, I kept it to myself."

"I'd have to marry you to keep the business in the family."

He raised a brow slightly and tilted his head. "Good job, you've finally boarded the correct train of thought."

Incredulous, Rory exclaimed, "She wants us to get _married_?"

"Calm down," he tried.

"I will not calm down! The first time in thirty years she reaches out and it's to _use_ me like a—like a—"

"Pawn. I know." She continued to pace, so Tristan leaned back against the stairs to watch. She was dressed down tonight, in jeans and a long sleeve green shirt that looked soft to the touch. She looked better than she had as a teenager. The curves of her body were more pronounced. Her face was less cherubic, and her cheekbones more defined. She was muttering to herself and shaking her head angrily. Her silky brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, though her long bangs were starting to escape.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I'm my dad's pawn in this."

She stopped in front of him and pointed a finger. "You said you don't work for him. You lied."

"No I didn't. I work for _your_ family, not mine. That's kind of the point."

"But you _will_ work for him, once this merger goes down."

"I guess you could say I'll be a vassal to his lordship," he reasoned.

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like we're in the sixteenth century."

"Aren't we? You were the one to bring up grand bowing. I'm just following your lead. And let's not forget Francine tried to arrange a marriage. Our families enjoy living in a feudal society."

Rory shook her head. "It's just a stupid law firm. I don't care, you can have it. Francine can just get over it. I don't owe her—or Straub—anything."

"People get sensitive about their legacies," Tristan told her. "They want to keep things in the family. You heard what your dad said about the newspaper king. And hey, what happened to The Times when Adolf Ochs died?"

"It went to his son-in-law," Rory answered. "But his daughter was already married to the guy. Adolf didn't hand it over and _then_ force them to marry."

"You do realize no one is going to stuff you in a white dress and drag you down the aisle, right? I haven't gone tuxedo shopping."

"Little comfort," she said. "I'm sure you were thrilled when I turned out to be Francine's granddaughter."

He was something all right.

"This isn't happening, Tristan. We aren't doing anything together. Ever."

"Who told you I wanted to?" he asked.

She paused and, to his confusion, looked offended.

His brows furrowed as he asked, "Did you assume I would? You think very highly of yourself, don't you?"

Hastily, she started, "No—but—"

"But what?" he asked, keen to know her explanation.

Flustered, she tried to go on, "It's just—you used to ask me—and she handed me over to you on a silver platter."

He didn't respond immediately, but stared at her, which made her blush. He knew what the rest of her sentence was—he used ask her out. A lot. He'd looked like an idiot in front of everyone when she continuously told him no. Instead of deterring him, her persistence only fueled his desires. She apparently never figured that out though. Rejection did funny things to the mind, he mused. It was an odd, though effective, motivator.

Huh.

With his eyes still on her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. It must have made her uncomfortable, because she averted her gaze.

"You were new, I was bored," he said, maybe somewhat harshly. "If it makes you feel any better, I got distracted by shiny objects too." That earned him a scowl. He briefly wondered how many times he could get her to do that.

"I didn't assume anything," she said, trying for conviction but failing.

"Good. Because my dad wants me to take you out to dinner, but I already told him it isn't going to happen."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously skeptical. "You did?"

"Yup. And to be honest, I had no interest in Francine Hayden's granddaughter before I even walked into her house."

She frowned, and again, he thought she looked mildly insulted. "How could you know that without knowing the person?"

Something he always wondered about her. "The same way you knew you weren't interested in me when you found out it was a set up."

"That's completely different."

"It isn't." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I guess guys are still falling at your feet, hoping for the chance to be with you."

Her brows scrunched up in protest. "They've never done that."

"Uh-huh," he said doubtfully. "I heard Huntzberger slept with every female that moved on the East Coast, congratulations on beaching that whale. I just hope he didn't give you any venereal diseases." He waited a second, and wasn't disappointed by her glare. He was two for two.

"He did not fall at my feet. For your information, he didn't even _want_ to be my boyfriend when we started dating," she said triumphantly.

Tristan didn't know how to process that declaration. It wouldn't compute in his head, so he moved on. "Your daddy issues are fascinating. Someone should study you."

Once again, she looked incredulous. "What? I don't have daddy issues."

But he was nodding, agreeing with his statement. "From my point of view, you do."

"Why?"

He held up a finger to count. "For one thing, your mother raised you."

"So? That doesn't mean anything."

"If you grew up without your dad around, you have issues. It's basically a rule," he said. "And then you went to college to date a guy just like him."

"No I—didn't," she said hesitantly. Her eyes grew concerned and she crossed her arms over her body.

"Did Huntzberger do a good job filling the void left by your dad?" Tristan asked with a smirk. Unfortunately, she didn't shoot him a dirty look this time.

"They aren't the same," she said, though meekly. "You don't even know them."

"You've given me a pretty good idea," he said. "When the going got tough, they got going." He'd let her mull that one over on her own. "Do you want some coffee?"

She nodded silently, still looking anxious.

He stood and led her into the kitchen, where she sat on the same stool she'd sat the previous Friday as he got her coffee ready. This time, he knew to take two cups down from the cabinet. He turned back to see her staring at the cabinet. Her eyes were the same bright blue, and while they were shrewder now, they still looked worried.

He cleared his throat. "So tell me," he started, "what's the difference between a reporter and a correspondent?"

Rory looked at him, visibly relieved by the change of topic and answered, "A reporter just regurgitates the facts. But a correspondent goes on location to provide their unique perspective about the story."

"I see. So that's what you do."

"Yes."

"How long have you been at it?"

"Since my first job ended in two thousand eight."

"You've been a foreign correspondent for eight years? It didn't take you long to work up to that position," he commented.

"Says Mr. I'll Make Senior Partner in No Time."

He put a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. "Touché." Her long bangs fell to the side of her face as she looked down at the cup. To prevent his hand from reaching out to brush them behind her ear, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter.

"Thanks," she said as she took a sip. "But you're right. It would usually take longer. If I went to work for a daily paper, I'd probably be a general city reporter for years. And no one was hiring back then anyway. I knew what I wanted to do, so I just went for it on my own."

"Meaning?"

"Freelance."

"Ah."

"Plus," she said with a half-smile, "I didn't have to awkwardly explain my criminal record to any employers."

Tristan snorted. "Sure." He thought about it for a couple seconds. "So your life is constantly in a state of survival mode—never knowing where your next story will come from?"

"Some would call that freedom," she said sardonically. "I do some editing too. It helps to fill the gaps. All my expenses go to travel, and I get to choose whatever story I want, which means lots of variety."

"All your expenses? Do you live in a cardboard box?"

"No, I live with—." She paused. "A friend."

He nodded. "Where might someone find your articles?"

"Smaller news outlets. They don't have foreign bureaus and can't afford to send reporters to other countries. This way, I can sell them a story that's more in-depth than what they'd get from the AP."

"I guess that rules out bigger papers though."

She shrugged. "Yeah, usually. But people who don't read the _New York Times_ still want to know what's going on in the world. And I want to tell them."

"Win-win," he said, noting her lack of concern for the status a prestigious paper would give her.

"Exactly," she agreed. Her phone buzzed from a pocket and she took it out to read a text. "Speaking of covering whatever story I want." She sent a response and laid the phone on the island.

Tristan grabbed it quickly.

"Hey!" She reached out.

He held the phone up. "I just want to see what book you're reading. Or is it books?"

"That's not a book, it's a phone."

"Thanks, Nancy. Unlike our relatives, you and I live in the twenty-first century, where books are electronic." He clicked on the appropriate app and scrolled through the many books, scanning the titles. "Not all your expenses go toward travel, I see."

After a few seconds, she said, "Give me my phone."

"Hold on, hold on," he muttered. He was no longer viewing her books though. He was typing in a ten digit number and saving it under his name. He dialed the number and let it ring once before he hung up and handed the phone back. "Here you go. Impressive collection. You didn't disappoint."

She frowned at that as the phone vibrated again. She read the new message. "I have to go."

"For a story?"

She stood and nodded at him. "Yeah, in Uganda."

"Just like that?"

"I told you. I can go anywhere anytime." She glanced at the coffee maker. "Oh, sorry, I don't have time for that second cup."

"Don't worry about it," he said with practiced detachment. He followed her to the door and opened it, stepping out onto the porch and looking at her. "So . . . be careful," he said lamely.

She nodded. "I will, bye," she said with a wave as she went down the sidewalk to her car.

Tristan watched her drive off, having no idea when—or if—she'd pop up again.


	4. IV

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**IV**

"That's a lovely family portrait you have there," Janlen Dugray said from his spot on one of the couches in Emily's living room. His grandson was seated next to him.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm afraid Lorelai had trouble sitting still that day."

"Rory looks just like her," Tristan observed. Then he added, "They must get their good looks from you."

"You're too kind," she said, handing him his scotch and taking her seat in front of the fireplace. It was too late for flattery. He'd already shown Rory his true colors. He was clearly attractive, no doubt giving him the confidence to believe he could get any girl he wanted. But he'd been wrong. Rory was too smart to fall for his insincere charm.

"You were right," Emily heard Lorelai say. "It was his car."

Lorelai and Rory were hovering at the entrance of the living room. They were gawking as though they were at the zoo. Emily was exceptionally happy to see them and eyed Rory expectantly, restraining herself from running to her for a giddy hug. Impatiently, Emily said, "Well don't just stand there. Come in and sit down. I want you to meet Janlen Dugray. And Rory already knows Tristan, of course."

"Nice to meet you," Lorelai said, shaking their hands before taking a seat.

Rory exchanged pleasantries as well, though raising an inquisitive brow at Tristan, to which he grinned and raised his glass to her. He watched her sit down and his eyes lingered on her legs, which were exposed from her knees down. Emily narrowed her eyes at him. Ogling—though incredibly distasteful in her opinion—was all he was ever going to do.

Satisfied with that thought, she turned her attention back to the rest of the group. "We're just waiting for Mason and Cecilia."

"My parents," Tristan explained, tearing his eyes away from Rory. "Dad keeps late hours at the office."

Emily stood and moved back to the drink cart. "Would you girls like martinis?"

"Yes, please," Rory answered.

"Shaken, not stirred."

With a crease between her brows, Emily asked, "What?"

"Yes, I'd love a martini," Lorelai said.

"Now tell me," Janlen started, "are you the same Rory Gilmore of the astronomy building at Yale?"

Rory took the martini offered and nodded. "The one and the same."

Emily added, "Richard and I donated money to the university in her name."

"It's an excellent building," he complimented. "Quite an improvement over the old astronomy building."

Lorelai took a sip of her martini and asked, "Is the font large enough though? We really want it to be visible from space." Then she asked her mother, "Is that why you picked astronomy? Because it was the department that could appreciate it from a distance?"

"No Lorelai," Emily said impatiently. "We didn't get to pick the department." She couldn't keep her excitement in any longer. "Rory, why didn't you tell me your wonderful news?"

"What news?"

"I spoke with Francine this week, and she said you're seeing Logan again. When can he come to dinner?"

"Logan?" Janlen asked.

Emily nodded at him eagerly. "Huntzberger."

"That's quite a catch," he commented.

She smiled and said, "His internet company is doing extremely well in California."

Lorelai, unable to keep her comments to herself, said, "I swear, you said the same thing about Chris once."

Tristan choked on his drink and started to cough. If he couldn't handle his scotch, he should have asked for something else, Emily thought. A Shirley Temple, perhaps. Apparently he found his sputtering funny, because he was smiling.

"Are you all right?" Janlen asked him.

Tristan nodded, his eyes twinkling at Rory in a way Emily didn't care for. "I'm fine."

For her part, Rory was rubbing her forehead, not returning his eye contact. When she looked back at Emily, she was cringing. "I'm not dating Logan again, Grandma. I haven't even talked to him in years."

Emily felt the disappointment wash over every part of her. Coldly, she asked, "Why would Francine say such a thing?"

"Well, since she was trying to set us up," Rory said, pointing to Tristan, "Dad mentioned Logan and made it sound like we're together." She went on hurriedly, "He said it so she'd back off, that's all. I'm sorry you had to hear about it second hand."

Not as sorry as Emily was to hear it wasn't true.

Just then the doorbell rang and the maid walked by to greet the final two guests. Moments later, Mason and Cecilia Dugray joined them. Mason wasn't as tall as his son, and with his graying dark hair, his eyes were the only visual trait he passed on to Tristan. The woman next to him, in a skirt and blouse, had her blond hair pulled back in an elegant up do.

Emily introduced the couple to everyone in the room and prepared their drinks. Janlen stood to offer his daughter-in-law his place on the couch and instead went to join his son, who remained standing.

"I hope coming to dinner wasn't inconvenient tonight."

"Not at all," Cecilia said. "We were happy to get the invitation."

"I just wanted to clear the air after this business with Francine," Emily explained after she'd taken her seat again. "I don't know if you heard, but I had words with her about how I'm not in favor of a match between the kids."

"Kids?" Lorelai said, nonplussed. "They're adults."

"You see," Emily continued, "she and Straub never took the time to get to know Rory. They're little more than strangers."

"They didn't buy her a building or anything," Lorelai added.

Ignoring her, Emily went on, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. It's nothing against Tristan or your family, Francine just crossed a line. She really has no business using Rory like she tried. Straub's firm is nothing to us."

Mason, who still hadn't taken a seat, said, "There's nothing to worry about, Emily. It turns out Tristan and Rory already knew each other. And Lorelai's right, they're adults. They can decide for themselves what they want to do."

Luckily, Emily thought, Rory already knew she didn't want anything to do with Tristan, even if she wasn't with the best thing that'd ever happened to her. After tonight, they could put this all behind them as though it'd never happened.

"We've already decided," Tristan said. "It was the epitome of bad matches."

"It's really too bad," his mother lamented. "I've been looking forward to getting to know you, Rory."

"Oh, you have?" Rory asked, though why she sounded surprised, Emily couldn't fathom.

"Yes, I've heard such wonderful things about you. I was hoping you and Tristan would have hit it off."

Emily glanced at the blond man disapprovingly. He wasn't even paying attention to the conversation, like a person with proper manners would do. Instead, he had his eye on his father and Janlen, who were still standing near the entrance of the room, having their own discussion.

"I'm afraid we're being rather rude, Emily," Janlen said. "Would it be all right if we stepped out into the hall?"

"Yes, that's fine," she answered. "In fact, you can use the study straight through there," she said, pointing the way.

Tristan didn't go along, but he watched them leave. His brows furrowed just slightly and he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair in agitation.

"I guess we were wrong about the Navy theory last week," Lorelai commented to Rory. "The timeline doesn't fit any more if he went to law school."

"No, we were right," Rory said. "Weren't we?" She looked at Tristan expectantly, but he wasn't listening. He was as rude as his father and grandfather, Emily thought. But at least he wasn't looking at Rory like she was a main entre anymore.

"Tristan," his mother prodded. "Rory asked you a question."

He turned to the brunette. "Oh sorry. What?"

"You _are_ in the Navy."

He nodded and took a drink. His eyes darted quickly to the hall again before he said, "I'm a Navy JAG officer."

"Ooh, JAG, like the show?" Lorelai asked.

"Yes, except I was on a base, not a ship."

Emily frowned. Rory hadn't known what he did the night after Francine's dinner. How could she and Lorelai have come to a correct conclusion about the Navy of all things? Unless . . . no, Emily rejected the idea. Rory wouldn't have had a reason see him again. Emily hoped her granddaughter would forgive her for throwing them together one last time. She glanced at him, and again, he was barely paying attention to them.

Next to him, Cecilia added, "He was just released from active duty. Mason and I are so happy to have him back." Tristan glanced at her suspiciously, as if he didn't believe what he'd heard. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About what?" he asked.

"The four years you have left on your commission."

"We already talked about it, remember? You said I should resign and I said no."

"Yes, but I was hoping you'd changed your mind now that—"

"Tristan," Mason said from the entryway. He gestured with his index finger for his son to join him. Tristan complied without protest, if anything, he looked happy to leave the room. Whether it was to escape his mother's conversation or a fondness for business talk, Emily wasn't sure.

When both men were gone, Cecilia said, "You'll have to excuse them, they can't get through an evening without talking shop."

"It's quite all right," Emily said in an understanding tone.

"Tristan is getting to be just as bad about it. When he was younger he always asked to go along with Mason when he traveled for business, 'So Dad won't get lonely', he'd say."

"That's sweet," Lorelai commented. She and Rory both smiled at the story.

Cecilia continued, "One day he stood up and announced, 'When I grow up and get married, my wife is coming with me when I go places'." She took a sip of her martini before she went on, "I nearly died of laughter when the nanny told me about it."

Lorelai and Rory's smiles faltered.

"He must have sounded like a little cave man, wanting to drag a woman by her hair everywhere he went," Cecilia said with a shake of her head. "I can't imagine going with Mason when he travels, I'm far too busy. You know what it's like, Emily. We both have such full schedules." She turned to Rory, "But don't worry, I'm sure he knows now that isn't realistic."

Rory glanced from side to side. "Uh, okay."

Cecilia wasn't actually trying to push this ill-fated match, was she? What could she be thinking?

The maid appeared then and announced that dinner was ready. As the four women stood, the phone rang, and Emily frowned in distaste. "Who would be calling now? Go on to the dining room, I'll be right there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On their way to the dining table, Rory and Lorelai saw the two elder Dugray men already approaching the dining room. Rory frowned and wondered where Tristan was. She wandered away from her mother and found who she was looking for. He was standing by the grand piano, sliding back the protective covering off the keys.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

His head came up in surprise. He looked at her for a couple seconds before he grinned slowly. "I'm by a piano, so clearly I'm trying to lure you in to see what'll happen."

When her expression turned impatient, his smile just grew as he looked down at the keys to play a few chords. "Seriously, what are you doing in here?" She took a few steps closer to him to watch.

He held up a finger. "Wait for it."

So Rory did. But after a few seconds ticked by, she raised her eyebrows, silently asking what they were waiting for. Then his mother appeared at the entryway, looking slightly harassed. "For goodness sake, Tristan, resolve that chord progression before we all lose our minds," she said before walking away.

He smiled at Rory, saying, "She hates that. It's like nails on a chalkboard for her."

"So you do it to torture?"

"I'm just messing with her. Other people hug their mothers, I like to think outside the box," he said as he looked back down at the piano and furrowed his brows. "Shoot, what key was I in?" He quietly played a chord, then nodded. "That was it." He closed the keyboard and straightened.

"You have an odd way of expressing affection," she commented.

He nodded as they headed for the dining room. When they reached the table, his family members had already claimed seats on the side across from Lorelai. With Emily's place at the end, there were only two chairs left.

Tristan looked at Rory with a grin, "Look who I get to sit next to." He pulled out the chair next to Lorelai and gestured for Rory to sit in it. She complied, and he sat down next to her. "I hope we make it to dessert this time."

Emily returned to the dinner party and addressed the group as she took her seat, "That was Francine, and once again, she claimed this was all a misunderstanding. She just wanted to get to know Rory better." There was a sadistic gleam in her eye as she continued, "In fact, she'd like to throw you a birthday party."

Rory pointed to herself, bewildered. "Who, me?"

"Yes," Emily said with a smile. "At the end of April."

"But her birthday was in October," Tristan said absently, putting his napkin on his lap and picking up his fork.

Emily's eyes flashed to him and narrowed. "How do you know that?"

He turned to her to say, "I came here for her party once. You invited me."

Emily blinked. "Oh. Yes, yes of course," she said. She turned her attention to Lorelai. "She must have confused your birthday for Rory's. Isn't it wonderful?"

"I'm a little flattered she remembered by birthday—sort of—but how is it wonderful?" Lorelai asked, taking a bite of his eggplant parmesan.

"Don't you see? She'll look like a fool in front of everyone," Emily said.

"That's awful," Rory said with a frown. "We have to tell her the truth."

"We don't have to do any such thing. It'll serve her right after the way she used you. Misunderstanding my eye."

"Your suspicions are well founded, Emily," Mason said. "We all knew she had ulterior motives. It's why she kept pestering Tristan at his office."

Cecilia added, "I don't know what she's so worried about, she should be grateful. Straub's firm is in good hands with Tristan." She was pushing the linguini around her plate more than she was eating it.

Tristan looked up from his plate to his mother. He whispered to Rory, "Did you hear that too?"

She inclined her head toward him to ask, "Hear what?"

"What she just said. It sounded like a compliment."

"It was."

"I just wanted to make sure someone else heard."

Rory frowned at him as he kept an eye on Cecilia, waiting for her to continue. When she did, she said, "He studied international affairs, so he's very well equipped to practice law in that office."

Rory did some quick math in her head. Four years away, seven in school. There was a gap. "You're missing a year," she whispered to him.

"What?" he whispered back, leaning closer.

"You're missing a year. What did you do right after law school?"

"JAG, you know that," he said, spearing an asparagus with his fork. He added, "I had to take the bar first. And go to officer training school."

"But there's still eight years between that and high school. What are you, a doctor?" she asked sarcastically.

He grinned and said, "I'm a kind of doctor. Are you due for a physical?"

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't seem to mind.

"So since Tristan knows all about international affairs and you write about them," Lorelai said, "you guys should team up and go on the _Amazing Race_." She glanced at her mother and smiled slowly.

"Now you sound like Francine," Rory said.

Tristan asked Lorelai, "Are you re-setting us up?"

"Of course she isn't," Emily said quickly. "That's just her idea of a joke."

From across the table, Mason said, "Rory, I understand you were in Uganda recently."

"Yes, I was," she said. "My articles were in the _Courant_ this week."

Tristan muttered to her, "And we're back to you."

"Terrible what's happening over there," Janlen added.

"It is," she agreed. "I might end up going there again. I'll be keeping an eye on the situation."

"I'm sure her blog will have a new entry with all her thoughts by tomorrow," Lorelai said. "So we can all look forward to that."

"I do look forward to it," Emily said proudly. "I keep all of Rory's work. It's all in Richard's study."

"We're keeping it for a big Rory shrine," Lorelai quipped.

"You'll have to tell me all about your career sometime," Cecilia said. She took a sip of her wine, having abandoned her plate. She'd barely eaten half.

"Yes, well, she's very busy," Emily said. "She barely has time for Friday night dinners as it is."

"It's something I've always envied about her," Lorelai said.

"Another joke?" Janlen asked with a raised brow.

"If only."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"All right," Rory said as she carried a try to the living room the next night. "We have Pop Tarts, pizza, Red Vines, popcorn, and leftover chocolate cake from the diner." She put the full try on the coffee table in front of the TV and sat on the couch.

"That's all?" Lorelai asked, frowning down at the food. "I thought we had some donuts in the galley."

"The what?"

"The galley," Lorelai said again. "It means kitchen. It's a nautical term."

Rory stared at her mother for a few seconds, wondering if this needed to be addressed. She let it go for the time being. "I didn't see any donuts."

Lorelai snapped her finger. "Oh I remember, I ate them already." She picked up a stack of movies, displaying them for Rory one by one. "This evening's features are_ A Few Good Men_, _Anchors Aweigh_, _The Social Network_, and _On the Town_."

"I see a theme," Rory said dryly. This new fascination would definitely need acknowledgment if it continued beyond tonight. "Except one of these doesn't belong." She held up _The Social Network_.

Lorelai put _A Few Good Men_ next to it and pointedly said, "Aaron Sorkin."

"Ah, I stand corrected."

Lorelai looked down at the cover. "Do you think Tristan has a uniform like this?" she asked, pointing to Tom Cruise.

Rory shrugged. "I don't know, I guess."

"Are you sure you're not interested in him? Because I might be."

"Mom!"

"What?" Lorelai said defensively. She held up a hand. "I don't see a ring on this finger."

"That's because it's your right hand."

Lorelai put the first disk in the player and took a seat next to Rory on the couch. While the previews played, she asked, "So what are you going to do about this 'birthday' party?"

Rory shook her head and sighed. "I don't know. What if Francine does want to get to know me? I mean, making up an excuse for using me is a horrible _reason_ to get to know me, but maybe she really wants to," she said. "It's just a party, it wouldn't hurt anything to go along with it."

"Because you're the nicest person on the planet. Seriously, I don't know how you do it."

"I'll call Dad tomorrow and see what he has to say."

"At this point, I don't think Mom will let you cancel it. She's feeling vengeful. Did you see the look in her eyes? I think the idea of getting back at Francine might have made up for the false alarm about Logan." She selected a chocolate icing covered chocolate Pop Tart from the plate and took a bite.

"Dad owes me for that one." Rory thought of Tristan's accusation about her so called issues. "Big time."

They settled back into the couch with their pizza as the overture of _On the Town_ started. The movie hadn't quite reached half way when Rory's phone vibrated inside her pocket.

"Hey, no phone calls during movie night. You know the rules," Lorelai protested.

"I seem to remember a similar rule in the diner that you have trouble following."

"Movie night is different, it's sacred."

Rory stared down at the display, confused by the information. "It's Tristan."

"You gave him your number?"

"No," Rory deadpanned. She answered the phone and asked, "How did you get this number?"

"That's your telephone greeting?" he asked. "It needs work."

"I'm going to delete your number." She stood up, unable to sit still.

"That's fine, but I'll still have yours." He went on before she could counter, "So today I've been wondering, why don't you do more broadcast journalism?"

"What?"

"You've written tons of articles, but you don't have as many video pieces."

"What are you talking about?" She stopped where she was, next to the stairs.

"Your work, obviously." She wracked her brain, trying to figure out how he could possibly have found her stories. He cut into her thoughts, "Emily wasn't lying about keeping everything you've ever done. She keeps amazing records."

Rory gasped. "Did you steal from Grandma?" She returned to the couch, glaring at the television screen.

"I'm just borrowing it."

"So you asked if you could take it?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "Smuggled is more like it."

Lorelai paused the movie and turned to look at Rory. "Tristan stole?" She shook her head. "I wish you could find a guy who doesn't steal from Mom."

Tristan apparently heard, because he asked, "Who else took something?"

"No one," Rory said.

"Don't worry, I'll take it back so it can go in your shrine," he said wryly.

"Mom was joking about that."

"Your portrait and building says otherwise. I'm going to have to let you go. I want to read what you wrote about Libya—you've seriously been everywhere. I'll get back to you if I have any more questions." He hung up.

Rory looked down at her phone again. "He took that box of stuff from Grandpa's study."

"What box?"

"The one with all my work. He's at his house looking through it right now."

"Oh, that wouldn't be my first choice of things to take," Lorelai said, pressing play.

Rory crossed her arms and sat back on the couch. She tried to watch the movie again, but had trouble concentrating on the song Frank Sinatra was singing. She tried to think about all the stories she'd covered over the years. She thought about what Tristan would criticize—probably for his own amusement. And she was sitting here, letting him.

"I mean, I know it isn't private. Everything I wrote was printed for public viewing, but still. He just took it without Grandma's permission. She already isn't his biggest fan."

"Not that it matters since you two aren't interested in each other," Lorelai pointed out. "Right?"

"Right," Rory agreed. "Absolutely right."

"So it doesn't matter."

"Right," she said again. But it kept bothering her. She shook her head and stood up determinedly.

Lorelai glanced up at her. "Where are you going?"

"To get my stuff back from Tristan."

"What about movie night?"

"I won't be long."

"Mm-hmm. Here," she said, holding up a half empty red package.

"What am I going to do with Red Vines?"

"I recommend eating them, but don't let me stifle your creativity if you think of something better."

"I'm going to be right back. I don't need to take snacks," Rory said as she headed to her room for shoes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan was sitting on a futon in front of his flat screen television. He'd just finished reading a few of Rory's articles and switched back to a disk filled with reports. He glanced out the window and saw a car pulling up in his driveway. He recognized the silver Volt. It was Rory, again.

Incredible. At this rate, he'd never need to ask her to come over, she'd just invite herself. He grabbed an empty bowl from the futon and took it to the kitchen to refill it with grapes. He opened the refrigerator to retrieve a couple containers of yogurt, then got spoons from a drawer. He rounded the corner in time to hear her knock.

He opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"I want my stuff. I'll take it back to Grandma's."

Her rogue bangs had escaped from her pony tail again. The impulse to push them away from her face was only hindered by his full hands. "I'm not finished with it," he said as he headed back to his room. He left the door open so she could follow—which she did. He took a seat and put down the provisions.

"You really took it all," Rory said as looked at the newspaper clippings and internet print outs spread around the floor.

"Yeah, it was right where she said it was," he said with a nod. "I was supposed to pick out paint today, but I ended up going through this stuff instead." He pointed to a stack of school newspapers. "No offense, but I skipped over those. The first one was about a parking lot and I couldn't bring myself to read it."

"That's a good article," she protested. "Paris assigned it to me. She was mad at me about something. And Paris, being Paris, means it was probably over nothing." A couple seconds later, she pointed at him angrily. "It was you!"

"What was?"

Wide eyed, she continued, "It was the end of sophomore year. She was mad at me because _you_ said we were going out."

To a concert. He remembered.

"She must have stewed over it all summer."

Tristan had done some stewing himself.

"It was so dumb," Rory went on. "You and I didn't even like each other."

She was half right. "Sorry about that," he said. "I didn't know she'd take it out on you." He looked at the empty space on the futon. "You can sit." She did so and he offered the bowl of grapes. "You don't have to feed them to me—unless you want."

She started at him warily and snatched a container of strawberry yogurt. She took off the top and he handed over a spoon. After she took a bite, she commented, "You know what would make this better?"

"What?" he asked, eating a grape.

"If it was pudding." She muttered, "I should have brought the Red Vines."

"Hmm?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She glanced over the newspapers stacked up on the floor. "Did you skip over the stuff from the _Yale Daily News_ too?"

"A lot of it," he said, picking one up and pointing to her byline. "I think you kind of sugar coated this one a bit."

She took the paper and skimmed her article, then frowned at him. "I infiltrated a secret society. What did I sugar coat?"

"The reason those societies aren't a secret."

She ate a spoonful of yogurt. "Yes they are. They had to be persuaded to let me observe their event. I had to wear a blindfold, so I don't even know where we were. Clearly, they wanted to keep things a secret."

Tristan shook his head. "You're missing my point. They have secrets, but they _want_ people to know their special club exists."

Exasperated, she insisted, "No they don't."

"Then how will the non-members know they're being excluded?"

"They don't care about that."

He countered, "All of Yale cares about that, it's why they have all those wrought iron gates—to keep everyone else out."

She crossed her arms. "And where did _you_ go?"

"Somewhere equally pretentious." He waved a hand indifferently and put the paper back on the floor. "Don't worry about the article. I read between the lines. They wouldn't talk to you directly. I don't suppose they invited you to join after your story, did they?"

"No—but I participated in their stunt. And I hung out with some of them a lot after that event."

Tristan couldn't imagine why she would. He'd never have thought a bunch of rich kids who played with death to feel alive were Rory Gilmore's sort of crowd. But then he considered her high prized college boy toy, and he supposed it made more sense—though marginally.

She scowled at him. "I knew you were sitting over here, just criticizing my work."

"And you wanted to come to defend yourself?" he asked. He rocked his head back and forth. "That's fair." He pressed play so they could hear her coverage of the earthquake in Haiti.

"Ugh, turn that off," she said with a cringe, looking away.

Tristan glanced at her. "Why? Don't you like the sound of your voice?" Then he smirked and said, "I'm powering through."

She glared at him again. It was really too easy. "I hate these videos. They're so amateur, they belong on YouTube." She added dryly, "Everyone is a journalist." She finished off her yogurt and sat the empty container on the floor.

He smiled a little. "No, everyone's phone has a camera. Your reporting is professional."

Rory watched some of the video and listened to her voice over. "You don't really like this better than my articles, do you?"

"Yeah," he said. "You're not a hardened reporter. You saw horrible things happen to people. Your writing pants a vivid picture, but I don't know, hearing you report on it adds something."

"What?"

He shifted his eyes over to hers as he thought about the right word. "You sound . . . companionate." He didn't take his eyes off her.

"Oh." She paused, then, "Thanks."

He nodded at her slightly. "You're welcome." He gazed at her longer than necessary, and her eyes fell to his lips for a moment. She must have realized it, because she quickly shifted focus back to his eyes before turning to the television. He did the same and cleared his throat. "But I'm just a lawyer, so I don't really know much about it."

"Newspaper giants don't know everything either."

"Kings," he corrected. "We call them kings around here."

She laughed lightly as they watched her next story. Her self-critique was harsher than his. Her phone buzzed from her pocket and she took it out to answer. "Hello?" She turned to Tristan with a frown and covered the bottom of the phone. "It's your mom." He paused the video as she continued to listen. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure. I'd have to check my schedule . . . Okay, I will. Bye." She hung up and looked at him, incredulous. "You gave your mother my number?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. What did she want?"

"She invited me to go to the opera with her. I'm supposed to get back to her."

Tristan tilted his head thoughtfully. "The Hartford Opera just got a new tenor. And they're going to be doing _La boheme_. Maybe you should check it out."

She blinked. "What?"

"It won't be bad."

"No, how do you know all that about the opera?"

"That stuff is all my mom cares about," he said. "If she hadn't been on a Wagner kick when I was born, she might have named me Rhadamaz." He shook his head. "Either way, I was destined to be a tragic hero."

"You really think I should go?"

"Do what you want," he said as he took a new disk out of the box and went to the television to make a switch.

"Why does she want to spend time with me?"

"Emily only told Francine to cease and desist. I guess my mom decided to pursue you herself since I'm not going to," he said, moving back to the futon. "I suspect she's ready for a daughter."

"Lucky me."

"That's the spirit. And there's a bright side here, she obviously doesn't think you're inadequate for me."

Rory sighed and put her head back on the cushion. For the first time since she'd arrived, she slowly looked around the room. Like the rest of the house, it needed fresh paint and light fixtures. Tristan could feel her eyes on him as she slowly said, "I should be the one to take this stuff back to Grandma. I could visit for a while." Rory paused. "She might get lonely in that big house all by herself, with no one else around."

Tristan glanced at her and nodded. "It's possible." Probable, more like it, he thought.

Rory continued to look around the room. She peered through an open door and saw a bathroom. Then she looked at the piece of furniture they were sitting on. "Is this your bedroom?"

"Yeah."

"Why are we in here?"

"Because it's the room with the TV," he answered. "It'll go downstairs when the basement's finished. The futon is only temporary. I'm going to get a real bed." He added, "Not that _you'd_ ever need to worry about that."

She sat up straighter. "I think I should go. I'm missing movie night." She reached down to pick up a stray newspaper, but he snatched it away. When his fingers brushed hers, she quickly pulled her hand back.

"I'm not finished yet," he said. "Let me watch the videos, you can summarize the articles, and then you can take it all."

She exhaled heavily. "We can watch the videos, but that's it," she said. "And you have to read the parking lot piece."

"Fair is fair," he said. He'd already read the articles he was interested in anyway. Pleased with the evening, he grinned to himself as he turned back to the television.


	5. V

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**V**

Standing in her grandmother's foyer, Rory handed the box of her news stories to the maid, asking for it to be returned to the study. She was informed the lady of the house was on the back patio, so she made her way to the back doors. Rory spotted Emily sitting on the concrete terrace with a shovel in hand. She was wearing a visor to keep the morning sun off her face as she dug in the soil.

"Hi Grandma," Rory said as she approached the flower bed.

Emily looked up in surprise. "Rory, I didn't know you were dropping by."

Rory took a seat on the cool concrete across from her grandmother. "I just got back from an assignment yesterday and I thought I'd come for a visit. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. And I could use your opinion," Emily said, picking up a few packets of flower seeds for Rory to see. "Which do you think I should plant? I can't decide."

"Oh, uh, tulips?" Rory said, having no horticulture knowledge to speak of. She thought yellow would be a bright addition to the flower bed.

"Tulips it is, excellent choice," Emily said, setting the packet on the dirt. She sat a watering can next to it and took her gloves off. "I'm glad you came by, I wanted to apologize for Friday night."

"Why?"

"I know you loathe Tristan and didn't want to see him again, but I just wanted to make sure we're all on good terms. Friday was the only night they could all make it. I hated that it interfered with our time."

"Oh, it wasn't a problem. Tristan wasn't too awful," Rory said. "And his parents weren't bad."

"I heard Mason doesn't do much pro bono work. He clocks his minimum required hours and then he's back to billing clients," Emily said. "He's only concerned with the bottom line. And did you know Tristan was so unmanageable as a boy his parents had to ship him off to reform school?"

"I know. He missed the play."

"What?"

Rory explained, "We were supposed to be in a play together—for school—but he got sent away that night. Paris had to fill in."

"And a good thing too. He probably wouldn't have been prepared. He was too busy being the delinquent he is."

Rory didn't say anything. Present day, calling Tristan a delinquent seemed a step too far. Emily's forehead was lined in agitation as she continued, "You'd think he just got out of prison, the way he was staring at you all evening. You should exercise caution around him, men like him only want one thing."

Rory was sure Emily was mistaken—about Tristan's staring at her, at least. The advice was valid. Rory almost smiled when she considered asking her grandmother to explain what that one thing was. But not wanting another visit from a member of the clergy, she thought better of it.

Emily had picked the shovel back up and was stabbing at the soil as she dug a hole. "Of course you won't have to worry about that. This is all finished now."

Rory saw an opportunity and grabbed it. "Unless Francine invites him to that party she wants to throw me," she said. "That is, if no one tells her she's wrong about when my birthday is."

Emily's shovel stopped. "I hadn't thought of that."

"So maybe someone should tell her to call it off."

She looked to Rory and shook her head. "No, she deserves whatever embarrassment she gets."

"But Dad won't let her look bad in front of a crowd of people. He'll probably tell her the truth and she'll put a stop to it."

"I'll take care of him," Emily said. Then she added, "And don't worry about Tristan either. I'll take care of him, too."

Rory wondered if her grandmother was going to hire a hit man. Emily was starting to sound like she belonged in a mob movie.

Emily continued, "I'm sure he's easily distracted."

"Apparently by shiny objects," Rory said. She checked her watch. "I should get going. I have work to do."

Emily gave her a hug, saying, "Come by any time you like."

When Rory reached the door, Emily asked, "What play was it, that Tristan missed?"

Rory turned to answer, "_Romeo and Juliet_. We were the title characters." Emily's face went blank for a second, but she nodded and went back to her flower bed.

As Rory walked out the front of the house, her cell phone buzzed from her pocket. "Hello?" she answered, opening her car door and getting in.

"Taylor is suing me," her mother said incredulously.

"What? Why?"

"He ate lunch at the Dragonfly Monday and got food poisoning. He said he's going to sue the pants off me." Lorelai added, "I really like my pants."

"Sookie's food gave him food poisoning?" Rory asked. Then, "Wait, _can_ he sue you for food poisoning?"

"I don't know, but that's what he said he's doing. So I guess he can," Lorelai said, frustrated. "Sookie feels horrible. She's throwing out perfectly good food from the kitchen, afraid she'll make someone else sick. And she won't serve lunch."

"_Is_ it perfectly good though?" Rory asked as she pulled out of the driveway.

"Now you're on his side?"

"No, I'm just saying—has anyone else gotten sick?"

"Not that I know of. Oh no, if he really goes through with this, I'm going to need a lawyer. And I'll have to ask Mom to recommend one. There go my weekends! She'll lock me in for Sunday brunch. Or worse, Saturday night sleep overs," she said. "Then again, if she lets me pitch a tent in the living room it might be worth it."

Rory sighed. "I think you're overlooking the obvious."

"I know, she'd never allow a tent in her house."  
>"No. Your weekends are fine. Sit tight." Rory hung up and scrolled down her list of contacts as she kept an eye on the road. She shook her head slightly as she pressed send, not wanting to picture the look on Tristan's face when her name popped up on his phone.<p>

"Hello?" he answered, sounding both curios and amused.

"Tristan, I have a question." She added, "A legal question."

"Then I'll have an answer."

Rory clicked on her blinker as she changed lanes. "Can someone sue an establishment over food poisoning?"

"Yes, but they have to prove the restaurant food is what made them sick. It's frivolous, but can be done. Why?"

"It's my mom. She runs an inn—well she doesn't just run it, she owns it—but anyway, someone ate there the other day and wants to sue her for getting sick. Her chef is freaking out right now. She needs a lawyer to check things out. Do you know of one who could help her?"

"I know lots of lawyers. What's the address of her inn? I'll make sure it gets taken care of."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

About an hour later, Tristan walked through the entrance of the Dragonfly Inn. He was met with a staircase straight ahead and a dining room to his right, although access was cut off by a row of chairs. He spotted Lorelai standing behind the front desk and walked over. She was busy listening to a man talk about the horses as she handed him fresh towels. After a couple was handed their room keys, Tristan was next.

Lorelai made a note in a large book before glancing up. She did a double take when she saw it was him. "Tristan?" She gasped and said, "You're a lawyer!"

"That's probably the happiest anyone will ever sound when saying that. So someone wants to sue you?"

"Yes, it's our town selectmen slash evil overlord. He said the chicken Marsalis made him sick. He gave me all the gory details too, but I'll spare you. When he started talking about things coming out of both ends, I tuned him out," she explained quickly.

Just then, two arguing people rounded the corner and came over to the desk. One was a plump woman wearing an apron and her hair braided in pigtails. She was trying to yank away a bowl from a simpering Frenchman in a suit.

"Lorelai," the man pouted, "Sookie is trying to throw away my oatmeal. Tell her it is fine."

"If it was in that kitchen, it goes!" the woman, Sookie, said as she pointed a thumb over her shoulder.

"Oatmeal will not give anyone food poisoning."

"I'm not taking any chances, give me the bowl." She tried to wrestle it away, but Lorelai separated them, like a mother playing referee to her children.

"Sookie, I'm sure the oatmeal is fine. And if for some unlikely reason it isn't, I'm sure Michel won't sue. Now, everything is being taken care of."

Michel made a face at Sookie and took his breakfast back. Lorelai returned her attention to Tristan and formally introduced him to the other two.

At the word lawyer, Michel said, "It was all her." He pointed a finger at Sookie. "It's her fault we are getting sued."

Sookie launched into a rant, "I always cook my chicken all the way through. I mean, I don't always use a meat thermometer, but it's chicken, if there's no pink it's done. It's pretty much a no brainer. And I used good Marsalis wine and fresh cream—"

"Sookie, calm down," Lorelai tried.

But the chef continued, "The Gardeners and the Andersons had the same thing for lunch that day and they've been fine, haven't they?" She looked at Lorelai with large eyes, pleading for agreement.

"You're right, there haven't been any other complaints."

The Frenchman piped up, "Perhaps it your husband's vegetables. They probably came covered in bacteria."

"The mushrooms are fine—better than fine," she fired back, pointing a finger at Michel. "Leave Jackson's vegetables out of this."

Lorelai sighed and muttered to Tristan, "Welcome to my life."

While the other two continued to bicker, he said, "If I could just have a list of the people who ate here the past couple days, I can get this cleared up."

"Sure," she said, flipping a page of her scheduling book.

When the list was complete, Tristan went back out to his car and drove into town. His first stop was the plaintiff's house. He walked through the gate of a white picket fence and along the sidewalk. The yard had grass that would make any home owner's association happy. Tristan rang the bell and introduced himself to the greenish man with a white beard.

"Lawyer?" the man said in disbelief. "Lorelai got a lawyer?"

"She has a right to one since you're suing her," Tristan reminded him.

"Yes, well . . . all right," Taylor Doose said, grudgingly opening the door.

They walked through the living room—which was full of carefully arranged nick-knacks—to the spotless kitchen. Tristan asked what the man had eaten for the past few days, which turned out to be a tedious task. Mr. Doose was excruciatingly detailed about everything he'd ingested, but insisted it was the inn's chicken to make him sick.

"Have you reported your food poisoning to the health department?" Tristan asked.

"Er, well, no," Mr. Doose said, hemming and hawing.

"You know you'll be paying a lawyer more than what you'll receive in damages, if you do win, right? It probably won't be worth it."

"Young man, I've lost two days' of work from being ill. I have two businesses that had to operate without my supervision. Who knows what condition they'll be in when I return," he said.

"All right, I'll get back to you," Tristan said before leaving the house.

His next stop was a local diner. It was easy to find after Mr. Doose's deploring description of the hardware store. Feeling over dressed in his suit, Tristan left his jacket in the car and loosened his tie. He went into the restaurant and took a place at the counter. He recognized the owner, as he'd been described by his attire and fit the profile to a tee. He even looked surly as he impatiently listened to a man a couple bar stools away from Tristan talk about honey.

The man was skinny and had several red spots on his arms, as though he was recovering from chicken pox. "I call it Honey by Kirk, because honey, you deserve it," he told the man behind the counter—Luke. He held up a plastic bear with his homemade label on the front. A few more bottles were sitting on the counter.

"Those bees ate you alive," Luke said, arms crossed over his chest.

"We just had a small misunderstanding," the other man, Kirk said. "I wanted their honey and they didn't want me to have it."

"I don't want your honey, Kirk," Luke said as he took two plates from the kitchen and delivered them to a nearby table.

Kirk turned on his stool as Luke moved around the room. "You're making a big mistake. My honey is going to be in high demand soon, and I'm letting you in on the ground floor. Just think of all the things you could use it for. Coffee, tea, drizzled over pancakes."

"I know what honey is used for," Luke said after he'd written down an order on his pad. "I don't need yours."

Tristan gave the plastic honey bears a sidelong glance and reached over to take a closer look. He peeled back the label and asked Kirk, "Does Sleeping Bear Farms know you're selling their honey as your own?"

Kirk looked over in surprise. "Who are you?"

"Just a lawyer."

Kirk grabbed the honey from him and scooped up the three others on the counter, tossing them all in a black bag at his side. "What honey? There's no honey here."

Noticing Tristan for the first time, Luke stepped over and asked, "You got him to put that away?"

"Yeah."

"What can I get you?"

"Actually, do you know Taylor Doose? He says he had lunch here yesterday," Tristan explained. "He got food poisoning and is suing the local inn."

"He's suing Lorelai?" Luke asked. He put his hands at his hips, looking hostile. "And you're his lawyer? I'm not the one who made him sick, but I wouldn't feel guilty if I did."

Kirk leaned in toward Tristan to say, "Luke hates lawyers. Well, except that one time he married one."

"Kirk!"

"Sorry," Kirk said. He continued, "But he's very happily married to Lorelai now."

Tristan looked at Luke, perplexed. "You're Rory's step-father?"

"You know Rory?" Luke asked.

"We're . . . friends. She's the one who called me." He stuck his hand out to introduce himself.

"You must be that guy," Luke said, apparently recognizing the name. "And if you're not with Taylor, then you're against him," he said with interest. He had a glimmer in his eye not unlike Emily Gilmore's when she'd announced Francine's party plans. "Whatever you want, it's on the house."

"Thanks. But first, I need the names of people who've eaten here—to make sure Mr. Doose really got sick at the inn and not somewhere else."

A large woman wearing a wrap asked from a table near the front window asked, "Why would Taylor do that to Lorelai?"

"Because it's Wednesday and he doesn't have anything better to do," Luke said grimly, shaking his head. He started to rattle off a list of people, and Kirk and the woman, Patty—who introduced herself and sat rather close to Tristan—chimed in too, as they apparently ate there every day. When they were finished, Tristan wondered if any Stars Hollow citizen _hadn't_ patronized the diner. He was beginning to think Rory was pulling some sort of joke on him.

"How can I reach all these people?" he asked.

"You can't call them from here," Kirk informed him. "Luke is a stickler about his no cell phone rule. No one's exempt, even Lorelai. But I think she reaps other benefits from marrying him, like his coffee. It's widely speculated as the reason she married him in the first place. He tries to refuse serving it to her, but he always gives in. I suspect it has something to do with the sex."

"_Kirk_," Luke said from behind the counter.

Patty smiled cunningly at Tristan and nearly purred as she said, "I know everyone on the list, it would be my pleasure to help you hunt them down."

Apprehensive of this prospect, Tristan glanced over at Luke, who inclined his head to say, "If I knew of a better way, I'd tell you."

Tristan looked back to Patty with a heavy sigh.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory was sitting in front of her laptop at the diner later that afternoon, near a window where she could work without the distraction of the other customers while she worked. However, this idea wasn't proving to be effective at the moment. Babette had come in a few minutes earlier, gleefully announcing, 'Taylor and Eastside Tilly, seeing each other on the down low'!

Rory looked over to see her neighbor catch her breath as the people around her turned to listen. Babette continued, "Taylor tried to sue Lorelai for food poisoning, but she quick got herself a lawyer—and let me tell you he was gorgeous—he and Patty went around town and figured out what made Taylor sick. It was turkey from his own store! Tilly didn't cook it all the way. They were the only two people in town who were sick!" Babette had to stop to breathe again.

Rory wondered who Tristan sent over as she picked up her phone to dial her mother.

"Dragonfly Inn," Lorelai answered on the first ring.

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh, hey. Did you hear the latest scuttlebutt?"

"The what?"

"Scuttlebutt. It means gossip, it's a—"

"Let me guess," Rory said, "a nautical term?"

"Aye, did you learn some?"

"No."

"You mean nay."

"I meant what I said. How long are these terms going to be a part of your vocabulary?"

"It's going to segue right into Talk Like a Pirate Day," Lorelai answered.

"Which is when?"

"September."

Rory cast her eyes upward. "Great. Anyway, I just heard. Taylor and Eastside Tilly."

"Yeah, his own stock boys were the ones to rat him out. He only stocks turkey during Thanksgiving, but he's been ordering it special for Tilly. Tristan cleared it all up and Taylor dropped the whole thing."

"You mean Tristan sent someone over, right?"

"No, he came himself," Lorelai said. "He just left about an hour ago. He didn't charge anything either."

"He didn't?"

"No, he said not to worry about it. I don't know about you, but I think he earns a few points for that. He might be at ten percent good," Lorelai said.

"Maybe," Rory admitted.

"More if you count how much entertainment the town is getting out of this. I heard Taylor is locked up at home, blinds pulled."

"Just because he and Tilly eat together doesn't mean they're having an affair."

"Then why is he in hiding?"

"You're right. That must be the only answer," Rory said dryly.

Without warning, Lorelai changed the subject, "So, the linen delivery wasn't completely right today, so I made a note on the invoice of the discrepancies and faxed it to the company. Then Sookie was thinking about making a Greek salad for dinner tonight, but I wasn't sure, so she ran by some other options."

"Does this story include an antidote?"

"No, I was thinking you might like to jump in."

"About inn business?"

"Yeah. I mean aye," Lorelai said. "I was wondering if it would be weird if that's all we ever talked about."

"It would. Why were you wondering?"

"Well, earlier today when Tristan was here, he had to take a call from his dad. And it was all, 'I object' and 'order in the court'."

"Really?" Rory said skeptically.

"No, but it was lawyer stuff. And he kept calling his dad sir."

"That's respectful," she reasoned.

"And unnaturally formal for a parent. I hope it doesn't rub off on you, I don't want you to start calling me ma'am," Lorelai said. "And I'd be depressed if we didn't have anything other than work to talk about."

"It's different for Tristan and his dad. They're both lawyers. I'm sure they talk about other things."

"You're right, he also talked about his socks. They're red."

Rory smiled at Luke in thanks as he refilled her coffee cup, saying, "They talked about his red socks?"

Luke looked at her, confused. "The Red Sox? Is that Lorelai?"

"Yeah," Rory answered as she took a sip.

"And she's talking about the Red Sox?" he asked, starting to get worked up. "Tell her I'm not taking her to a game. She gives all the players goofy names and dialogue. And it goes on for the entire game."

"What are you talking about?" Rory asked.

"Baseball."

"Oh," Lorelai said, dragging the word out in understanding. Then she protested, "Hey, baseball theater could really take off if people like him would just give it a chance. And have you been to a baseball game? All they do is stand around, for _hours_." She added, "But I guess Tristan doesn't mind the monotony. He sounded a little disappointed when he said, 'I understand sir'. Seriously, do _not_ start talking to me like that."

"I won't," Rory promised before they both had to get back to work.

She put the phone down and drummed her fingers on the table. She glanced around the diner, which was all abuzz about Taylor and Tilly. She thought it prudent to thank Tristan for his help, so she picked her phone back up and dialed his number. After a few rings though, he didn't answer. Not wanting to leave a message, she hung up and made a mental note to try again later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory stood in front of Tristan's front door later that evening with a dish in hand. He was leaning back against the frame casually. "Do you just want a key? It'll save you some time."

She explained, "I called earlier, but you never picked up."

"I was busy," he said as he tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. He stepped aside to let her in.

She could hear sizzling coming from the kitchen. "Are you making dinner?"

"What do _you_ do at dinner time?" he asked, heading to the kitchen.

Rory followed him. "Order out," she said as she took a seat at the island and sat the covered dish in front of her. She noticed a couple tickets laying a foot away on the countertop.

"You mean your mom never makes you dinner?" he asked with a smirk.

"She doesn't cook. But Luke does."

"You told me you live with a friend."

"I do."

"You live with your mother," he deadpanned.

Rory innocently argued, "We're best friends, actually."

"You're thirty and you live with your mom," he repeated, as though he was having trouble grappling with it. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard. I have extra rooms if you want to rent one."

She ignored the offer. "It just worked out that way when I started reporting freelance. It isn't practical for me to have my own place when I'm never there," she said. "Mom doesn't mind me living there." She looked around the open area surrounding the kitchen to defensively add, "_Your_ house is falling apart. You're going to have to hurry up and find a trophy wife to balance things out."  
>"At least it's <em>my<em> house," Tristan quipped. He went to the stove and picked up a wooden spoon.

"What are you making?"

"Chicken Marsalis. Snooki was going on about how she made it and it sounded good, so I thought I'd try."

Rory stared at him for a few seconds with a blank face before she snorted and started to laugh.

"What?"

"Who was making chicken Marsalis?"

"Snooki—you know, your mom's chef at the inn."

Rory smiled and laughed some more. With her shoulders still shaking, she said, "You mean Sookie."

"Oh. I was close. Give me a break, I think I met everyone in your crazy town today."

"Some call it charming."

"Those people are crazy too."

"Speaking of Sookie, she made you macaroni and cheese with her famous jalapeño cream sauce—that's why it's green—as a thank you," Rory said, pulling away a corner of the aluminum foil from the dish.

"Small town folks sure are hospitable," Tristan said with a southern twang, but his tone sounded more playful than mocking.

"I heard you had a big day today."  
>He stirred whatever was in the skillet on the stove. "I don't think I've ever been sexually harassed so many times in one day."<br>Amused, Rory said, "That's Miss Patty for you. She and Babette are having a field day."

"There's nothing like small town scandal to get everyone excited."

Rory mused, "I wonder if Taylor just wanted something."

Tristan turned to her, nonplussed. "He wanted to sue your mom. Remember, that's why you called me this morning—to save the day."

"Uh-huh," she said. "But he might have just wanted something. And probably from Luke."

"Then why would he sue your mom?"

"Because it's Taylor. And the best way to get Luke to do something is to go through Mom. I guess you don't know _everyone's_ hidden motives, now do you?"

Mildly amused by her assessment, he said, "I guess not this time." He leaned up against the counter. "So Mr. Doose goes through your mom to get to your step-dad?"

"It's not unheard of."

"Did she really marry him for his coffee?"

Rory flashed him a smile. "I don't think so. But I wouldn't go so far as to factor it out completely."  
>"You never mentioned you had a step-dad. He wasn't at Emily's Friday night."<p>

"He comes sometimes. Luke is great, but he isn't exactly who Grandma envisioned for Mom."

Tristan added a spice to a small saucer on the back burner and covered it with a lid. "You mean Emily Gilmore doesn't think highly of the blue collar type? I'd never guessed that sort of thing from her," he said. "So she tolerates him."

"Basically. She has strong opinions about what's best for others."

"Did she envision someone in particular for your mom?" he asked as he brought a cutting board and knife over to island. He took mushrooms out of the refrigerator and started chopping.

Rory sighed. "Don't play dumb."

"Christopher Hayden?"

"Yup. But they tried once and it didn't work out."

"You said your parents didn't get married though," Tristan reminded her, pausing his chopping to glance up at her.

"They didn't when they were sixteen. It was later, when I was in college. But they rushed into it on a whim."

"Sorry to hear. You probably thought about them getting together when you were a kid."

"Yeah." Rory stared across the room and added, "But as you would say, the going got tough, so . . ." she trailed off. She shook her head and came out of her trance.

"He's still your dad though. You only get one." He transferred the chopped up mushrooms to the saucepan on the stove.

"That's true," Rory agreed, her eyes darting to the discarded tickets on the counter. "So, as you could probably tell from Friday night, Mom and I are both romantic disappointments to Grandma. Neither of us is with who she'd like to see us married to. And considering the two men, I'm sure you have a wise crack ready. Hurry up and get it over with."

Tristan gave her a pensive look and shrugged. "Stay the course," he said, turning back to the stove.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," he said as he turned the chicken in the skillet, "you've followed her road map pretty well so far. Keep going and you're sure to find someone Emily can grudgingly tolerate. Does she keep a list? Maybe you should start at the top."

Rory didn't respond. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "I wanted to come by to thank you for helping Mom today. You didn't have to go to Stars Hollow yourself. I thought you'd just pass the information along to someone else."

"It wasn't a problem."

"Still, it wasn't exactly international law."

"Not even close. But it wasn't bad. I haven't gotten to investigate anything in a while."

"Did you have to when you were a military lawyer?"

Tristan nodded his head. "Yeah. JAG officers are assigned cases for the prosecution and the defense. So as you might imagine, there aren't as many resources for the guy going up against the United States government."

"I see," Rory said with a single nod. "Why didn't you charge Mom for your services?"

"Consider it a free consultation."

"You did a lot more than consult."

Tristan didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Lorelai doesn't owe me anything, she wasn't the one to call in the favor."

Rory frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
>"That she isn't the one who owes me."<p>

Rory didn't like where this was going. "So what, _I_ do?"

He grinned. "There you go. I thought you were punking me when I spent the morning with that dance instructor. She told me the whole town history. I met your neighbor's cats," he said. "But I know just how you can pay me back." He grabbed something from the cabinet and tossed it over to her. It was paint samples. "I can't decide on a color for the living room. You pick one."

"That's it?" she said in disbelief. "I just have to choose a color?"

"Mm-hmm. Well, that and then you have to come paint my living room."

"What?" she said incredulously. "You want me to do physical labor for you?" He smirked and her eyes grew wide. "Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"Whatever vulgar remark you were thinking."

He put a hand to his heart and innocently asked, "Me, vulgar? I don't know why you'd even think that."

"You did that on purpose," she said. "You weren't just doing a nice thing. You went yourself so you could make me work for you."

"Yes," he said dryly, "I had a diabolical plan from the beginning to trap you here. Because as you know, my world revolves around you and ways to get you in my house." He paused and pointedly added, "Oh wait, I haven't needed a diabolical plan to accomplish that yet. I have no reason to start now."

"Can't I just pay you? I'll write you a check."

"I don't want your money."

"I can't pick out paint for your living room."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the one who has to live with it, not me."

"Interior designers help with this sort of thing all the time."

"Then get an interior designer. I'm a journalist, I'm not qualified for this."

"Just pick a color. It'll be fine."

She exhaled heavily and eyed him warily as she glanced from the paint samples to the living room. "You probably want it to go with your furniture. Do you know what you're putting in there?"

"A couple couches. The kind no one sits on unless guests come."

"You aren't going to use that room when no one is around?"

"Not really. It's mostly for looks. If my parents come to visit, I'll entertain them in there."

"Don't you mean _when_ they visit?"

He shrugged. "We'll see."

She held up the samples and flipped through them. She stopped and pointed to one. "How about this?"

"Light brown? Sure."

"No, it's called Maple Sugar. Write it down so you don't forget."

"Yes ma'am," he said as he opened a drawer for a pencil and pad of paper. His response wasn't formal, but it still reminded her of what her mother overheard earlier. Rory got up to set the paint samples back where he'd picked it up and returned to her bar stool.

She glanced at the tickets again and couldn't help herself from asking, "Big weekend plans?"

Having finished writing the name of the paint down, Tristan glanced over. "No, why?"

She waved the tickets at him so he could see. "What about the Red Sox?"

"I'm not going to that. I don't even like the Sox."

"Then why get tickets?"  
>"I thought my dad might want to go to a game," he explained. "But he's busy this weekend."<p>

"Oh, sorry."

"For what?" he asked as he pulled a plate down from a cabinet.

"That he can't make it," she said.

He shook his head indifferently. "My fault. I should have asked if he could go before I got the tickets." Staring at her, he evenly added, "It's not like this is the first time I've extended an olive branch to have it thrown back in my face."

His hardened eyes made her uncomfortable, and for some reason guilty. After she averted her gaze, she went on, "Why don't you go with someone else? A friend."

"My friends are scattered all over."

"What about your mom?"

"Ha," he barked with a smile. "You're funny."

"Well what are you going to do with the tickets?"

Tristan took a few steps over to the island and took the tickets from her. "This is what we do. We do not throw a fit or tear or crumble up the tickets." He opened a black trash compactor between the lower cabinets. "Because that won't change anything. We just throw them away and move on."

"Wait," she said quickly.

He stopped. "What?"

"First off, are you seeing anyone about this 'we' thing? Because I think you should get it checked out—just to see how many people you have in there. Second, I'm sure you don't have to let perfectly good tickets go to waste."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you paid for them and—." And she felt bad for him getting turned down by his own dad. She understood the feeling, but didn't think that would be the right thing to say. Searching her mind for the right reason, she blurted, "I'll go."

"What?"

_What_? She did not think that one through. But it was too late to take it back now. "Yeah, it's this weekend? I'll go."

"You want to go to a baseball game in Boston?" he asked doubtfully. "With me?"

Her shoulders dropped. "Boston?"

"It's the Boston Red Sox," he said flatly. "They play in Boston."

"And why wouldn't they? That makes sense." She went on, "And yes, I want to go to a baseball game with you. It's been ages since I've been to one. I happen to love sports food."

He stood still without saying anything for a few seconds, probably thinking how crazy she was. But a moment later he straightened and closed the trash compactor. "Fine, we'll go." He put the tickets back on the counter.

She was relieved that he didn't continue to question her. He went back to the cabinet to take down another plate and slid it over to her. He brought the skillet of chicken and the sauce over as well.

"Does this look like Sookie's?"

Rory leaned over to get a better view. "Not really. But Sookie is a rare talent. Not everyone can do what she does."

He grabbed a couple forks from a drawer and handed her one. "Try it."

"You try it. Are you a good cook?"

"Good enough to survive," Tristan said. "If you try the chicken I'll share the macaroni."

Not one to turn down food, Rory said, "Deal."


	6. VI

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**VI**

Late Saturday morning, Tristan was in Lorelai Gilmore's living room, waiting for Rory to finish getting ready. He was sitting on the couch, wondering what Emily Gilmore thought of the monkey lamp on the table next to him. Then he thought about what his own mother would think—probably something similar to the older lady.

Rory came out from her room carrying a pair of shoes. She was casually dressed in jeans and a short sleeve shirt. She had on just the right amount of mascara to compliment her bright blue eyes. She was one of those girls who knew less makeup was more. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Mom," she called, "Did you find them?"

"Yup," Lorelai answered, making her way down the steps and holding out a pair of socks. She handed them out for her daughter.

Rory took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and crossed her ankle over her knee.

"What are you doing?" Tristan asked.

She glanced over at him to answer, "Putting on socks."

"I see. They're red. Why are you wearing red socks?"

She frowned and started on her shoes. "Because we're going to a Red Sox game. What else should I wear?"

"We're _going_ to a Red Sox game, we don't actually care about the Red Sox."

He spoke at an unfortunate time, as Luke walked in with a travel mug and sat it on the lamp table next to Rory. "We care about the Red Sox."

"No we don't," Tristan argued. To Rory, "Take the socks off."

"Keep them on," Luke said. "The Red Sox are one of the best teams in the MLB."

"I don't even know what that stands for," Rory said.

Luke asked Tristan, "Why do you think their games are always sold out?"

"Because Fenway Park has low seating capacity. Having fans doesn't make something good."

"Don't listen to him," Luke said, turning to the girls. "I thought he was okay—"

"For a lawyer," Lorelai said.

"But I was wrong."

Lorelai muttered to Rory, "Do we need to get the Bop It out?"

"No," Rory answered as she stood up. "We're leaving." She signaled for Tristan to do the same.

Lorelai picked up the travel mug and followed them to the door. "Now, no funny business," she warned. "Much like Santa, Emily Gilmore is watching. Make sure there's always an arm's length between you at all times."

Tristan glanced at Rory questioningly, but she shook her head as she put on her jacket. She took the mug from Lorelai before they went out the door. On their way down the porch steps, she asked, "Whose car are we taking?"

"Mine."

"That was fast, you didn't even consider mine," she said. Defensively, she added, "My car is great, I never have to buy gas."

Tristan glanced over at the silver Volt and back to her. "I don't want to end up stranded on the side of the road when the battery dies sixty miles from Boston."

"It switches over to gas when the battery runs out."

"Which is exactly why we aren't taking it. You just said you never buy gas. You probably don't remember when the last time was."

Rory opened her mouth to protest, but stopped to frown. Apparently he'd made a point, as she headed to his Mercedes without further argument.

While driving through Stars Hollow, Tristan said, "I have a confession to make. I've been going to bed every night praying for the off-chance you get arrested. Knowing you'll call me to get you out of trouble really makes my day."

"Don't get your hopes up," she said. In what Tristan felt was a non-sequitur, she said, "Since we have a couple hours before we get to Boston, you can tell me about your lost year."

"What lost year?" he asked. "I don't have one."

"Yes you do," she insisted. "There's eight years between high school and when you left the country. There's one unaccounted for."

"Maybe I needed an extra year in college. It could be I'm just dumb, did you ever think of that?" When she didn't say anything, he smiled and said, "You didn't, did you? You think I'm smart."

"I never thought you were dumb," she said. "And don't worry, I'm not judging you if you needed some time off. Lots of people do it." She paused before slowly adding, "In fact, I took a semester off."

He glanced over, amused. "No shit?"

"Hey," she said, pointing a finger at him. "Mom told me what that means."

"What?"

"You think my story is far-fetched."

"It is, but I'm listening."

"This is a true story," she said. "I quit Yale for a while."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and arched a brow. "Did you need to find yourself?"

She shook her head. "I thought I needed to find something else to do with my life, which entailed leaving school to find whatever that was." She exhaled heavily. "So, you can tell me what you did, I promise not to judge."

"Enticing as that sounds, there's nothing to tell," Tristan said as they passed a sign informing them of the eighty miles yet to go. "Sorry to disappoint."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A couple hours later, Tristan and Rory were in Fenway Park. They found their seats, and from what Rory could tell, they were good, if proximity to the field meant anything.

"So what do you know about baseball?" Tristan asked as they sat down.

Rory looked around the carefully manicured lawn of the field and then to Tristan. "It involves a ball."

"That covers a lot of sports." He pointed to the field and traced a counterclockwise diamond in the air. "Those are bases. The players hit the ball with the bat, and then run around the bases."

"Ah, _base_ball. I get it now," Rory said. "Is that all?"

"No. But it's a good enough start."

Rory looked around at all the other people in the stadium. There were parents with their children and groups of friends, all wearing navy and red shirts. Some kids wore large leather mitts over their hands. A vendor walked up the steps, shouting out the food he was selling. Rory waved to get his attention and bought one of everything.

When Tristan looked at her like she was mildly crazy she said, "What? I told you I like sports food. Popcorn?"

He helped himself to some and looked around the stadium, commenting, "It's probably better you came today. My dad wouldn't have liked these seats anyway."

She furrowed her brows as she ate some peanuts. "These seats are great. I can tell, and I don't even know anything about baseball. We're right by that base," she said, pointing to the nearest one.

"Home base," Tristan agreed with a nod. He tilted his head closer to her. "They score when they get to that one."

"So it's the most important base," she concluded. Then, "Oh, I get it now."

"Get what?" he asked, eating more of the popcorn.

"The metaphor people use for foreplay."

Tristan stared at her for a second. "Yup, that's where it comes from."

Getting back on topic, Rory said, "Where would your dad rather sit?"

He pointed up to a section of windows higher up. "In an air conditioned luxury box, where all the bigwigs can rub elbows." He shook his head as he added, "Dad loves everything about Boston, which is probably why he stuck around another three years. He loves starting stories with, 'in Boston'—that's how they teach you to say it, you know."

"Do they?" she asked, assuming she knew who 'they' were and wondering if Tristan was taught to use the phrase too.

"Mm-hmm," he answered unhelpfully.

She tried again, "You don't care about Boston though?"

Tristan barely lifted a shoulder. "It's fine. I'm more of a Yankees man, myself—they're in New York," he said, missing her meaning. "Some of my friends went to West Point. When they could make it down to the city, we'd go to games." He smiled a little. "But they wouldn't like these seats either."

"Why not?"

"It's better to heckle the other fans and their players from the bleachers," he said, pointing to the seats behind one of the bases.

They were interrupted when the announcer introduced the vocalist who was singing the _Star Spangled Banner_. As the anthem was sung, Rory watched Tristan out the corner of her eye. He stood straight and tall with his hand over his heart. He was turning out to be a puzzle she couldn't put together. The pieces wouldn't fit.

When the song was finished, she asked, "Don't you have to salute?"

He shook his head as they sat down. "Not when I'm in civilian clothes."

"Oh."

As the players took their places on the field, she asked, "So you have military school friends who went to West Point?"

"Mm-hmm, and a few who went to Annapolis," he answered. "You know how Chilton feeds into the Ivy Leagues?"

"Yeah."

"The military academy I went to was a feeder school too. Not everyone was there to be punished for their sins," he explained. "Some were from families with military traditions."

"Oh wow," Rory said. "I guess it was a breeze in comparison for you to suck it up and become a lawyer."

Tristan looked over at her to stiffly ask, "Suck it up?"

"Well, yeah. Next to someone who's putting their life in danger for their country makes any other family obligation look pretty pedestrian."

He didn't say anything for a long minute. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Using someone else's life to assume things about mine," he said. He went on before she could protest, "I didn't go to law school out of any obligation. I went because I wanted to."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Isn't it though? But I see what you're saying, and you're right. I'd be a real jerk to complain if I was forced to go."

Rory turned back to the game and crossed her arms. She regretted her word choice. She just hadn't met many people who wanted to follow the plan their parents had for them. She assumed Tristan's life was decided for him, considering his profession was the same as his father's. She had more experience with people who didn't like the preordained plans.

She studied Tristan out the corner of her eye. He had on jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. His blond hair had grown a little since that first night at Francine's. He was resting his cheek on his fist, eyes on the field with his jaw set in irritation. She told herself not to care, she shouldn't worry if he was mad at her. But she did.

Tentatively, she asked, "So is that why you joined the JAG Corps, because of your friends who are serving in the military?"

Tristan turned back to her slowly. He considered her a moment, then, "Maybe, in a roundabout way. But it's not as altruistic as you make it sound."

Relieved by his willingness to answer, she nodded to signal she was listening. She was in reporter mode—it wasn't like she was interested in the baseball game.

"One of the guys from North Carolina got accused of breaking the Honor Code when he was up at West Point. He was a couple years younger than me, so I didn't know him very well. But someone told him I was going to law school, so he called me. He was worried about his hearing."

"There was a hearing? At school?" Rory asked. "What did he do?"

Tristan answered, "He was _accused_ of stealing. They don't have a prosecution or defense, so I was really only there for moral support. But there was a real JAG officer presiding over the hearing. So I talked to him afterward to ask about what he does."

"And that's how you got interested?"

He nodded. "I thought the experience would be good for my career."

"Was your friend found guilty?" Rory asked.

Tristan looked at her, brows furrowed. "I don't think so, but I don't remember. That wasn't really the point of the story."

"Oh, right, I know." She crossed her arms over her body again, remembering her past run in with the law. "What would have happened if he _was_ found guilty?"

"Depends," Tristan said. He reached for more popcorn, which Rory took to be a good sign. "They could have made him repeat a year. Or they might have kicked him out."

"What if he didn't steal at school though, would he have still had a hearing?"

"Nah," Tristan said dryly. "You only have to be ethical at school, you can do whatever you want out in the real world." He laughed a little. "What's the point if you don't apply it to the rest of your life?"

Rory nodded hesitantly. "Right. That makes sense." She bit her lip and pretended to watch the game. Without taking her eyes away from the field, she said, "So they take that Honor Code pretty seriously then, huh?"

"Yeah. We had a similar one in North Carolina. We couldn't . . ." He trailed off and his smile slipped. "Um—lie."

Rory saw his troubled expression. "Is that all?"

He glanced back over and shook his head as he hastily went on, "Uh, no. You can't lie, cheat, or steal. Or tolerate anyone who does." He fell quiet again, eyes returning to the game.

Maybe he was guilty over recently stealing that box from Emily, Rory reasoned. He hadn't hurt anyone though, and the box was back where it belonged, so she kept talking to take his mind off it, "I hope you didn't keep pulling pranks when you got there."

He turned back to her. "No, I was pretty busy doing time for other minor infractions that first year."

"What do you mean?"

"I was good at being on time for class, but I had a hard time keeping my room neat and clean. It took a long time to get the hang of it."

Rory frowned for a moment, but then smiled slowly. "You were used to the maid cleaning your room, weren't you?" Her smile grew wider.

He tilted his head and grinned sheepishly. "I might have been."

"How much trouble did you get into for that?" she asked.

"I wasn't a Century Man, but they probably thought I was trying to be." When he saw her perplexed expression, he added, "That's anyone who racks up a hundred hours walking."

"Walking?"

"One of the punishments was to walk."

"That doesn't sound so bad," she reasoned.

"For hours at a time," Tristan said. "If you didn't stay in line, you could spend your whole weekend walking in the courtyard."  
>"That would really cut into study time."<p>

"Just how I loved to spend my weekends," Tristan deadpanned. "Good thing I didn't get into academic trouble. I guess I have Chilton to thank for that."

"Failure is a part of life," Rory said.

"But not a part of Chilton," he finished with a grin. "That's one of Charleston's best speeches."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emily was seated on a couch in the den—the room hardly ever got used. She checked the television schedule and pressed the power button on the remote. She turned to one of the several channels dedicated to sports—why there were so many, she had no idea. She found the channel she was looking for and stared in horror. There they were, for the entire world to see. Rory was sitting next to Tristan a few rows back, behind the player holding a bat.

Emily could hardly believe Rory had agreed to go to a baseball game with him. Hadn't she spoken poorly of him? He'd made her life at Chilton so difficult—everyone there should have been happy to have her. Who in their right mind would willingly spend time with the man? Emily had tried to talk her out of it the previous night during dinner.

"I can't cancel," Rory had insisted. She had defended herself with some story about Mason not being able to go to Boston. She'd added, "We're just friends, Grandma."

Emily had turned to her own daughter in displeasure. She'd heard _that_ line before. Lorelai had pointed at Rory and accused her of a 'curse'. One could only guess what that was about. It wasn't Rory's fault if Tristan's father didn't want to spend time with him. Briefly, Emily thought of the arm twisting involved in getting Lorelai to commit to anything beyond Friday night dinners.

She shook her head of her mental cobwebs quickly. She glanced at the television screen and tried to think if Rory had ever spent time with the young men she'd introduced her to. Rory certainly hadn't brought any of them around after their initial meeting. And there had been some good ones too. Nora Henderson's nephew, for one, was a highly regarded, successful analysis at a consulting firm.

"Boring," Lorelai had called him. And Rory hadn't called him at all, though Emily had encouraged it. He'd be taking over his uncle's business one day, so he would easily be able to provide a good life for Rory.

Then there was the financial advisor a month ago. He was well mannered and handsome enough, although even Emily had to admit he had little in common with Rory. They simply couldn't carry a conversation without assistance. Emily sometimes wondered if her granddaughter even _wanted_ to share her life with someone.

Granted, none of the men she'd found could hold a candle to Logan Huntzberger. A man like him only came around once in a lifetime. He was truly the one that got away, in every sense. But even still, every man Emily had found for Rory was easily better than the cretin who'd made her life miserable. Rory was special, and she deserved someone who was her equal. Tristan Dugray was just a lawyer, there wasn't anything remarkable about him.

Emily would just have to try harder, she thought resolutely. If Francine insisted on inviting Tristan to her ridiculous party, Emily would invite some guests of her own. Her mind worked quickly as she jotted down a few names on a pad of paper. She'd easily keep Rory too busy to be concerned with Tristan.

She turned her attention to the television screen, where Rory wasn't watching the game at all—why would she go if she wasn't going to watch? Instead, she was talking to Tristan, who wasn't paying attention to the game either.

This was all Francine's fault. If it hadn't been for her, Rory wouldn't be sitting at a baseball game in Boston with that man. He probably tricked Rory into going. There was no other explanation. No problem, this would be remedied. Emily picked up the cordless phone and dialed a number she'd written on the pad of paper.

After a few rings, a young female voice answered, "Hello?"

"Quinn, this is Emily Gilmore."

"Oh hi, Emily," Quinn said, friendly tone.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in meeting someone. I think you're absolutely perfect for him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory was watching the game and wondering what the appeal of baseball—or any sport, for that matter—was. She was genuinely trying to understand what all the excitement was about, but she had to admit, she saw the merits of baseball theater. The game definitely needed something to liven it up. It looked slightly more physically demanding than golf.

While watching a player at bat take an exceedingly long time to hit the ball, her mind wandered back over the information Tristan had shared. She asked, "You said your friends came down to the city. Does that mean you were already in New York?"

"Yes."

She considered this a moment. "Did you go to Columbia?"

"Yup."

She nodded curtly to herself in triumph. At least she got one thing right—and without offending him. Something in her brain clicked and her eyes grew wide. She grabbed Tristan's arm and said, "Oh my God. You studied international affairs. At Columbia."

"I know. I thought it might be a good idea since I was going to be an _international_ lawyer. They have the best program. Seemed practical." He glanced down at her hand that was still on his forearm, but didn't complain or comment on it. He leaned in a little closer to add, "That's what took an extra year. You can't get a bachelor's degree by itself for that program."

She barely had time to ponder that, as she was still concerned with her first realization. "James Rubin teaches international affairs at Columbia."

At the seriousness in her tone, Tristan said, "Yeah, so?"

The crowd around them booed about something, but the game was far from her mind. "So? He advised Hilary Clinton and Madeleine Albright. _And_, he's married to Christiane Amanpour."

"Again I ask, so?"

Rory looked at him as though it didn't need further explanation, but humored him. "I love Hilary Clinton. She's one of my heroes. And Christiane Amanpour has always been my idol—I wanted to be just like her when I grew up."

"Oh," Tristan said. Then he grinned and added, "Don't worry, students were only invited over to their house for wine and cheese a couple times."

Rory stared at him silently, eyes still wide in disbelief. "Could you give some hint as to whether or not you're joking?"

"Which would offend you less?" he asked, clearly amused by her star-struck reaction.

She shook her head and realized she still had his arm. She let it go and tried to watch the game some more. It was really no use though, she had no idea what was going on and didn't care. But she couldn't deny the electricity among the fans—not including Tristan, who looked marginally more interested than her.

Rory blurted out, "I met her once."

"Who?"

"Christiane Amanpour."

"You're still on that?" he asked, glancing back to her. "That was ten minutes ago."

"She stayed at the Dragonfly once," Rory continued, remembering the day from many years ago. "I was wearing my pajamas."

Tristan laughed a little and smirked. "And what did those entail?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Nothing exciting."

He let a second tick by. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Sorry, I got distracted after you said 'nothing'."

"Anyway," she said pointedly. "She gave me her business card—she doesn't usually give it out. It's in my wallet."

"Have you ever used it?"

With a frown, Rory asked, "What for?"

"To contact her—to get ahead, you know, in your career. What else would you use it for?"

"I just keep it safe and take it out to look at every once in a while."

"So it's more of a souvenir," he concluded, smiling.

"Basically." Then she added, "I met Madeleine Albright in a dream once."

He snorted. "Score." He shook his head and laughed lightly. "You're so weird."

Rory turned her attention back to the game again, where all the bases were occupied. The player up at bat hit the ball out into the stands and the crowd cheered around them. Rory watched the fans jump to their feet—everyone except her and Tristan.

When the crowd had calmed down some, she leaned in toward Tristan to comment, "I take it something good happened."

He nodded and inclined his head closer to hers. "They just made four runs. So they got four points."

"And it only took him three tries." She sighed. "How long does this go on?"

"For nine innings."

"What are they on now?"

"The top of the third."

"Is there a bottom?"

"Yes, after this team gets three outs. Right now they have one. Both teams play infield and outfield every inning."

"And they do this nine times?"

"Yeah. Unless they're tied at the end, then they keep going."

"Mom was right," Rory said with a groan. When she felt her cell phone buzz, she took it out of her pocket.

"Do you ever go anywhere without that on your person?" Tristan asked.

"No," she said as she checked the screen. "Hmm, I've seen this number before." She held it up for him to see.

"Mom."

"Hello?" she answered. "I know, I'm sorry I couldn't make it. A story took me out of the country last weekend . . . Oh, Saturday? I actually have a kid's birthday party that day, sorry . . . Okay, I will. Bye." She hung up and put the phone back in her pocket. She exhaled heavily and looked at Tristan pointedly. "Are you sure you didn't give her my number?"

"Positive. I kept it for myself."

"Is she in the DAR?"

"She'd be insulted you felt the need to ask."

"Maybe that's where she found my contact information. I'm in the directory."

"The DAR, really?"

"I had to do something when I dropped out of school," she said. "They had an office job open."

"Convenient," he commented. "So what did Miss Celia want this time?"

"She asked me to go to the ballet with her."

"A kid's party was a good excuse. Very inventive."

"I didn't make that up. My friend, Lane, has twin boys. They're turning nine."

"You have a friend with nine year olds?"

"Yeah," Rory said. "This time every year I have to think about what a boy would like."

"I have experience being a boy," he said. "Do you want to get out of here? I know the area. I can help you find something."

"What about the game?"

"You care about it less than me. And I don't care at all," he said, standing up.

"Okay," Rory said as she stood, happy at the prospect of leaving the game.

"Just one rule," Tristan said, turning slightly as he led her up the steps. "You have to turn your phone off."

"What if someone needs to get a hold of me?" she protested.

"They'll leave a message."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Today was actually fun," Rory said later that evening, after they'd arrived back at Stars Hollow. "Even though we left the game."

"Leaving the game was the reason we had any fun," Tristan said. He'd helped Rory carry her purchases inside the house and they were standing on the porch. He leaned against the railing and shoved his hands in his pockets, not feeling the need or desire to rush off.

And Rory was apparently okay with it, as she asked, "What was it like to live on a military base?"

"Like living in a small town," he answered.

"Like Stars Hollow?"

He glanced from the gnomes in the next yard back to Rory. "No. I said small town. This is the land of the loony."

"Hey!"

"Oh sorry, I forgot the word is charming," he said dryly. One of the lawn ornaments caught his attention. "Are you Jewish?"

"No. Why?"

"There's a chuppah in your yard," he said, nodding at it.

Rory looked over at the carefully carved canopy. "Luke made it for Mom as a wedding gift," she explained. "Not _their_ wedding. It was supposed to be for her and Max." After a pause, she added, "Oh, hey, you know Max—Mr. Medina."

"Right," Tristan said with a single nod, vaguely remembering a rumor at school. "What happened with that?"

"Nothing," Rory answered. "Mom didn't go through with it. We went on a road trip instead. Actually, we drove to Boston and went on an unofficial tour of Harvard."

"You Gilmore women sure know how to have a good time."

She smiled wistfully. "We do."

Tristan looked back at the chuppah. Luke had built it such a long time ago. "Was he in love with your mom?"

"Yeah, he sent a thousand yellow daisies to the inn—not the Dragonfly, the Independence Inn. It's where I grew up. But it burned down, and that's when Mom and Sookie opened the Dragonfly," she rambled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tristan said. "Luke sent a bunch of daisies to an inn?"

"No. Max did, as a proposal."

"I was asking about Luke," Tristan clarified. "Was he in love with your mom when he built that chuppah?"

"He liked her for a long time," Rory answered.

"Then why didn't he just ask her out?"

"Either she was with someone else or he was. Intermittently she and Dad would have a thing." Rory shrugged. "It just took them a while."

Years, he thought dryly. It took Luke years. Tristan never took that long to get what he wanted. At least, not usually. He glanced over at Rory—the one notable time he'd failed. Chilton should have kicked him out long before Mason did the job. Tristan looked at the chuppah again. No wonder the town selectman went through Lorelai to get what he wanted from Luke.

"Do you want something to drink?" Rory asked. "I think we have some tea in the fridge."

"Sure," he said, watching her walk into the house.

Luke might have taken years to work up the nerve to finally get the girl, but it was doubtful he'd ever been deliberately deceptive. Lorelai probably never hated Luke though, so his uphill climb wasn't as steep as Tristan's. He reasoned his case was different—he was between a rock and a hard place. The possibility of her falling prey to his mind game was his only option.

It wasn't much of a loophole though, and it didn't make him feel any better. He was as good as lying. He ran a hand through his hair and looked out over the yard—he needed to start walking. Instead, he sighed heavily as he went over to the porch swing and sat down in the middle, stretching his arms out on the back rest. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was supposed to be smarter now. Or at least less of a jerk.

Rory walked back out of the house with two glasses and handed him one. He thanked her and scooted over to make room on the swing. She sat down and took her cell phone out of her pocket, turning it on. "Oh my," she said, frowning down at the screen.

"What? Did the president call?" Tristan asked.

"I have six messages from Grandma," she said, pressing the phone to her ear. After a few minutes, she tilted her head, perplexed. "She knows we left the game. She offered to call with an excuse so you'd have to bring me home."

"You know, I'm starting to get the feeling she doesn't like me very much."

"I may have, uh, told her some things," Rory admitted as she deleted the voicemails.

Terrific, Tristan thought sardonically. As though there weren't enough ridiculous reasons for him to fall short in Emily Gilmore's eyes.

Rory interrupted his thoughts, saying, "Your mom texted me."

He snatched the phone away, brows furrowed. "I didn't know she even knew how. She's never texted _me_ before."

Rory pulled the phone back to read the message. "She wants me to come to dinner sometime this week. I'm supposed to pick the night that works best." She glanced at Tristan to ask, "She won't give up until I agree to something, will she?"

Tristan took a sip of tea. "We Dugray's are persistent. We don't like to take no for an answer."

"I remember," Rory muttered vaguely as she typed a response. When she was finished, she looked back over at him. "Does she want you to quit?"

"Quit what?"

"The Navy. Does your mom want you to get out of your commission?"

Tristan nodded. "She's misguided to think I can at all before my eight year obligation is up."

Rory was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Is she worried you'll get called back?"

"Mm-hmm."

"She's right though, you could."

"I know," he said. "But I did sign on the line."

"True," Rory said.

He could feel her eyes linger on him for a few seconds. He glanced over, but got distracted by her bangs—yet again. She was sitting so close, all he had to do was reach out. In a stunning lack of self-control, he didn't stop himself this time. He brushed the stray hair behind her ear slowly. When he realized what he'd done, his eyes snapped to hers—which were watching him. An idea flashed through his brain, there was an easy way to end his charade.

Oddly, Rory inched forward just slightly, as though she was thinking along a similar line.

"There you are," Lorelai said.

Tristan and Rory both looked over quickly to see Lorelai approaching the house. Some tea spilled out of Rory's glass when she jumped. She sprang up from the swing and propped a leg up in a semi-sitting position on the porch railing.

"Who won the game?" Lorelai asked pointedly.

"I don't know, we left."

"I know. Mom has been calling to tell me all afternoon," Lorelai said, walking up the steps.

"We went shopping," Rory said. "I picked up some birthday gifts."

"Oh?" Lorelai said, full of interest.

"For Steve and Kwan."

"Oh," she said again, flat this time.

"How did Grandma know we left?"

Lorelai answered, "Apparently she could see you."

"I thought you were joking about that."

Tristan spoke up, "Our seats." Both women looked to him. "We were sitting behind home base. We were on TV."

"Grandma was watching baseball?"

"I know," Lorelai said. "It makes as much sense as you going to a baseball game. Emily was all atwitter. She was worried people would get the wrong impression. It looked like you were on a date."

Tristan and Rory both said, "It wasn't." He took a sip of tea and saw Rory cross her arms out the corner of his eye.

She quickly changed the subject, "How was the town meeting?"

"Complete chaos," Lorelai answered. "Everyone was nagging Taylor, wanting his advice about romance. He kept trying to get back to the agenda, but no one was interested. Luke is going to regret missing it."

"Taylor and Eastside Tilly only ate together," Rory said. "Maybe they're friends. Everyone is just jumping to whatever conclusion they want." She didn't look at Tristan as she said it, instead keeping her eyes trained on her mother.

"But why keep it a secret then?"

"Maybe because it isn't anyone else's business," Rory suggested.

Lorelai looked from Rory to Tristan and back. She grinned mischievously and nodded knowingly. "Message received. I'll just sneak inside and leave you two alone."

Rory blushed as she rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly.

Tristan stood and walked over to her. "I should go. I'm supposed to meet my dad and some clients at the club for an early tee time tomorrow."

"The fun never ends for you," she commented as she took the empty glass he handed her. "What day do you want me to come over?"

"For what?"

"To paint."

Tristan shook his head. "Don't worry about it." Maybe he could think of a less deceptive plan if she wasn't around to distract him.

"No, I owe a debt. Will Wednesday night work for you?"

He hastily said, "Sure, sounds good. I leave the office by six."

"All right, I'll see you then," she said, taking her phone out again to mark her calendar. She stuck it in her pocket when she was finished and looked back up at him.

Though they'd both said otherwise, it felt to Tristan like it was the end of a date. He wished it was, he was a big fan of the end of dates. He glanced quickly from her lips to her eyes. "Uh, see you then," he said before turning toward his car, escaping before he made any more unintentional moves.


	7. VII

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**:I own nothing

**VII**

Tristan was at home after work one evening, staring at the contents of his pantry. There were spices in the door and non-perishables on the shelves. He was hungry for dinner, but didn't know what he wanted. From the counter where it was charging, his cell phone started to buzz. He walked over and answered, "Hello?"

"When are you getting here?" Rory asked.

"Getting where?"

"Your parents' house."

Tristan leaned against the counter and frowned. "Why do I need to get to my parents'?" Then, "Are you at my parents'?"

"Yes, for dinner. Remember, your mom invited me."

"But you've done such a good job of getting out of things," he said pointedly.

"Hey, I called to postpone," she said in defense. "I had to cover a story. I never know when something is going to pop up."

"Mm-hmm. I didn't know you agreed to dinner."

"I only did it to get your mom to stop asking."

He didn't recall that strategy ever working to _his_ advantage. "Now you understand why I went to Francine's."

"I'm starting to see the merits of getting people off your back," she admitted. "So where are you? Are you on your way?"

"I'm at home and no. I wasn't invited."

"Yes you were, your mom said you weren't here _yet_. Meaning you'd be here eventually. Soon even."

"I had no knowledge of any of this."

"Well now you do, so get over here."

"If that's your version of come hither, it needs work," he said. "Oh second thought, I like it."

He sat the phone down and sighed. He hadn't seen Rory since the baseball game, which had been over a week prior. She'd called to postpone the evening of painting they'd scheduled. There was an uprising in Southeast Asia she'd gone to cover. But apparently she was back in town.

He hadn't thought of a better plan. He couldn't ask her out, even if he wanted to. And he sure did want to. The desire had faded in the past after he'd gone. But now he was right back where he was before. So he'd done some—minor—fibbing. Playing it cool was all he had. The best he could come up with was to not tell any blatant lies.

Their families were too meddlesome, they were helping to mess things up. Who'd want to date a guy after their estranged grandmother tried to set them up? Tristan couldn't think of anyone. He couldn't think of anyone who'd want to date a girl because his parents encouraged it, either.

And then there was Emily Gilmore, who was blowing everything out of proportion. If she'd take a step back and get a grip on herself, she might not feel the need to 'make up for' a fix-up gone bad. But Tristan understood her intentions clearly, hands off _her_ granddaughter. He was much better at reading between the lines than said granddaughter.

None of it was fair, really. Why did the girl he wanted have to hate him? Oh, right, because he'd been an ass half a lifetime ago. How could he forget? It wasn't supposed to go the way it had. She was supposed to have gone out with him the first time he'd asked. Then he could have gotten bored and moved on. It was the natural order of things. She wasn't supposed to say no. And he wasn't supposed to care. .

Tristan sighed again headed for the door leading out to the garage. At least he had a solution for his dinner tonight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A little later, Tristan walked into his parents' house. He stepped into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. His mother and Rory were standing at the island in the middle of the room. Rory was wearing a simple navy blue dress with a plunging V-neck and elbow length sleeves. During their first acquaintance, he'd only seen her in her school uniform or the occasional oversized sweater.

What was his deal? He didn't like frumpy outer garments—they weren't nearly as revealing as he preferred. If he'd been able to delve deeper and find something beyond her plain looks to like, couldn't she have seen past his . . . quirks? It seemed fair.

"What are you doing sneaking through the back like one of the servants?" Cecilia asked. She was wearing one of her prized designer evening gowns and her blond hair fell to her shoulders in loose curls.

"Just what you said, sneaking," he answered. "What are you doing _in_ the kitchen?"

"It's a room in my house, I can be in it if I choose."

"I know, I just didn't know you knew you _had_ a kitchen," he said.

"Not everyone's kitchen is exposed for the whole world to see." She turned to Rory. "I hope you haven't been to his house, it's a mess."

"It's getting better, and she has," Tristan said for Rory. "She likes it a lot."

"It so unsafe, being outside the city limits," Cecilia said. "I wish you'd live in a—"

"Gated community?" he finished for her.

"Yes."

"Did you know the police reports in your neighborhood are disproportionate to the amount of crime?"

"That's because we're vigilant."

"Holy paranoia, Batman," he said with a smirk. "I think I'm going to let my grass grow two whole weeks before I have it cut." He glanced around the room, all the stainless steel appliances were immaculate as always. "So what are you doing in here anyway?"

"The maid is sick," Cecilia answered.

Tristan argued, "Elsa never gets sick. Are you sure it's not one of her grandkids?"

The woman shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

He made a clicking noise with his tongue and looked at Rory. "There you go."

"I had to call a caterer, so we're waiting. I didn't want to leave Rory all alone in the living room."

"I'm sure she brought a book," Tristan said. "And I saw Grandpa's car, I'm sure he'd love to have a chummy discussion about how great Yale is."

"He's in the study," his mother said. "He had a call to make."

To Rory, Tristan commented, "He's not very good at retirement."

"My grandpa was so bad at it, he quit," she said with a half-smile.

Addressing her son, Cecilia said, "You're lucky we have to wait. You're late."

Tristan argued, "You'd have to invite me for me to be late."

"I did invite you."

"Telepathically?" he asked rhetorically. He turned to the brunette again. "As well as being persistent, Dugray's have excellent communication skills." He glanced at the microwave clock and asked, "Dad still at the office?"

"Yes," Cecilia answered. "He'll be home soon though, which gives you plenty time to go upstairs and change."

He looked down at his clothes. He'd put jeans on after work and had discarded his tie. He turned back to his mother. "Why do I have to dress formally?"

"Because we're going to have dinner."

"So? Don't you ever get tired of dressing up in your own house?" he asked. "Don't you want to be comfortable?"

Scandalized, Cecilia said, "We have guests this evening."

He held a hand to the side of his mouth like he was telling her a secret. In a stage whisper, he said, "When Rory came over, we ate dinner, and we were wearing jeans. And I don't have a dining table yet." To Rory he said, "With all these formal dinners we keep attending, I really hope the next one is a murder mystery, you know—dinner theater. I like to think I'd be good at it."

"Will you please just go change?" Cecilia asked, exasperated.

"Fine," he said. "But I don't know if there's much up in my closet. So don't be surprised if I come down in a Chilton uniform." He added to Rory, "It'll make me nostalgic." He winked at her and headed out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory's pulse kicked up a notch as Tristan left the room. She was probably a little jumpy around him after their brief—whatever—on the porch swing the last time they saw each other. She thought he'd maybe wanted to—and maybe she'd wanted to—but it was probably nothing, just her imagination working overtime. She'd barely thought of it afterwards.

They could hear Tristan singing a wordless melody on his way to the stairs. Cecilia cringed and called out, "You're terribly flat, dear." She smiled at Rory apologetically when he stopped. "He was never much of a singer."

In his defense, Rory commented, "Oh, I still recognized it. Wasn't it the romantic music you always hear in movies when characters—uh, when they kiss?" Was he trying to subliminally remind her of what definitely didn't almost happen?

"What?"

"You know, like in cartoons when the characters swoon in a romantic moment."

Cecilia gave her a look indicating she was at least moderately insane. "That was from the fourth movement Tchaikovsky's _Romeo and Juliet _Suite."

Embarrassed, Rory said, "Oh . . . right, nostalgia—that does make sense." She hastily added, "Since we were supposed to be in _Romeo and Juliet_ together."

"I wonder why he never told me about it," the woman mused.

Judging by their communication skills, Rory speculated he might have, just to have it forgotten. Or worse, discarded.

Cecilia changed the subject. "I do wish he'd finally settle down with a nice girl." She added, "I hate that he has four years left on his commission. He could at least _try_ to get out of it."

"I don't think it works like that, he signed on the line after all."

"I thought if he met someone he liked enough he'd want to make sure he doesn't get called back."

"You mean me?"

"I had hopes, yes," Cecilia answered. "It's a good match, you're from such good families. I thought it was a wonderful idea when Francine made the suggestion."

Francine. Rory knit her brows as the wheels in her head slowly turned. "Did she by any chance give you my number?"

"Yes, actually. I hope you don't mind, but I did ask her for it. I invited her this evening, but she couldn't make it."

Well, sure, Rory thought, why face the person you tried to use? It was unbelievable, the woman was still trying to marry her off, as though she was—as Tristan had said—living in a another century.

There was a knock at the door, and Cecilia let the caterer's in. After they were given instructions, Rory followed her through the large house until they reached the living room, where Janlen was seated, reading a newspaper. Rory took a seat on one of the couches. It was similar to the furniture found in Emily's house. If this was what Tristan meant to put in his living room, it wouldn't go with the rest of the house at all.

"Ah Rory," Janlen said, setting the paper aside. "It's nice to see you again. Would you like a drink?"

Rory accepted the offer and he went to the drink cart in the corner of the room. From an unknown entrance of the house, Mason appeared. He greeted them all and, upon hearing about the dinner situation, excused himself to his study.

After a few minutes of small talk, the sight of Tristan walking down the stairs caught Rory's eye. He apparently found appropriate attire in his old room, as he was in a suit that fit him perfectly, and he'd added a black and grey striped tie. Instead of joining them, he continued in the direction Mason had disappeared.

At the sound of his knocking on the study door, Rory commented, "He really likes his shop talk, doesn't he?"

Janlen looked through the entrance thoughtfully. Without agreeing or disagreeing, he said, "When he was a boy, Mason came into the office one morning and said, 'My son wants to follow in our footsteps'. He was rather pleased."

Across from Rory, Cecilia nodded in agreement. "I remember that day. Mason was sitting at the table during breakfast and Tristan announced he was going to be a lawyer when he grew up." She paused for a moment to take a sip of her cocktail, then continued, "Well, you should have seen the way his eyes lit up when Mason sat his newspaper down to listen. Tristan started talking so fast, he probably didn't even know what he was saying."

Rory's eyebrows twitched in concern. It would be a cute story if it wasn't so depressing. She wasn't sure if she should be glad Cecilia had witnessed her son declaring his career intentions, rather than hearing from the nanny.

"All the men in our family used to go to Yale for law school, you know," Janlen told Rory.

Cecilia said, "Until Mason that is, he was a rebel and went to Harvard instead." She said it with a sparkle in her eye and a small smile. "So you can guess where Tristan had to go."

Rory really didn't want to, but went ahead anyway, "Boston?" Cecilia nodded in confirmation and Rory felt her heart sink. She wondered if Tristan did anything because _he_ wanted to.

One of the caterers stepped in to inform them dinner was ready. Cecilia went to the study while Janlen led Rory to the dining room. She took a seat across from him and was again struck with the feeling that a table like this wouldn't fit in Tristan's house. Neither would the large curial cabinet with the fine china.

When everyone was assembled—with Tristan next to Rory as though their proximity would give the illusion they were a couple—Janlen said, "Rory, I hear you just returned from Asia."

"Yes," she said, placing her napkin on her lap. "I wrote a few articles for a daily in Massachusetts. And recorded a video for a local news station."

"You have quite a diverse resume," he commented before sipping from his wine glass.

"I like variety."

Pausing before eating a bight of chicken, Tristan asked, "Isn't it all death and destruction?"

"Not all of it . . . sometimes," she said unconvincingly. "Once I went to a coronation ceremony where a woman became a king."

"Rory," Cecilia said suddenly, "I should have thought of you before, I have an open seat at the Passover Seder I'm hosting."

"That's supposed to left open for Elijah," Tristan told her.

"I'm not talking about that seat," his mother said.

Hesitantly, Rory said, "I don't know, I'm not Jewish. The chuppah in our yard is misleading."

"We aren't either," he said.

"You don't have to be Jewish to have a Seder," his mother said impatiently. "We discuss current world affairs, like freedom and religious tolerance."

"Oh," Rory said in surprise. "That sounds kind of fun. I might actually like to come."

"Wonderful, everyone will love to have you," Cecilia said. "I could make room for you too, Tristan."

"No thanks," he said. He sat his water glass down and arched a brow at Rory.

"What? It sounds fun," she whispered defensively. "I like world affairs. I thought you liked them too."

"I like them just fine. But it's going to be a bunch of my mom's friends." He added, "And she might get carried away and start introducing you as her daughter-in-law."

Rory shook her head dismissively. When they'd stopped their whispered conversation and resumed eating, Mason spoke up for the first time, "I was in court this afternoon. Judge Woods was presiding. The law means more to her than anyone's last name. She's easily one of my favorite judges in the area." He raised his wine glass to his lips, but paused to add, "She's wise in matters of youthful indiscretions."

"That's true," Janlen said in agreement. "She tired of those cases long ago."

"As did I," Mason said evenly. "They motivated me to take action when Tristan was determined to go down the same path. He'd have a hard time defending anyone if he was sitting in jail himself."

"Ah, memory lane," Tristan said under his breath.

"I think you've been acquainted with her, Rory," Mason said.

She glanced up at him, perplexed. "Sorry, who?"

"Judge Woods," he repeated. Watching her carefully, he said, "I believe she sentenced you after your arrest."

Rory's fork stopped on the plate and her cheeks warmed. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Tristan put his own fork down rather than continue eating.

Without looking up, she said, "Right. Now that you mention it, I guess the name is familiar." For what it was worth, she said, "It's been expunged."

Tristan tilted his head closer to her to whisper, "Court transcripts live forever."  
>"Reading court dockets is his hobby," Cecilia said dryly. She was seated at the foot of the table, opposite her husband.<p>

Determinedly, Rory lifted her head to say, "I was going through something. But I served my time."

"Yes," Mason said in a tone of—what Rory interpreted as—mild approval. "Which is more than your partner-in-crime can say."

"His dad has good lawyers."

Mason nodded. "A shame, too. From what I understand, he could have used a heavy dose of reality long before your incident with the coast guard."

"That's not proper dinner conversation," Cecilia said.

"My apologies," her husband said, returning to his plate.

To Rory's relief, Tristan changed the subject, "So how about those Red Sox?"

"I heard they won the game we went to," she said.

Cecilia perked up, looking from Tristan to Rory. "You went to a game? Together?"

They both nodded, and in an ever-so-slightly pointed tone, Rory said, "There was an extra ticket, so I went along."

"We left the game early though."

Mason lifted a brow slightly at Tristan, as though in silent question. Rory didn't know what that was about, but the blond just shrugged nonchalantly and went back to his dinner.

"Leaving a Red Sox game should be a crime," Mason said, luckily in jest. "It's not something we do in Boston."

Tristan turned to Rory and mockingly straightened the knot of his tie as he haughtily mouthed, 'in Boston'. He smiled at her and she grinned back. They shared eye contact for an extended second and he asked, "Aren't you glad you came tonight? The fun never ends."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, Tristan and Rory were in the living room alone. He had asked her if she wanted to stay for after dinner drinks, and citing a romantic interlude between her mother and Luke at home, she agreed. He was now sitting across from her on the couch, reading the paper.

"This is weird," she said.

"What is?" he asked, not lowering the paper.

"Being at your parents' house. Meeting your whole family," she said. "You've met _my_ family—and town. I've had boyfriends who haven't met all the people you have." After a moment she added, "I never met either of Jess's parents."

"Who?"

"My high school boyfriend," she answered. Tristan didn't remember anyone by that name. Apparently reading his mind, she quickly said, "My second high school boyfriend."

"He didn't want to take you home to meet the parents?"

"He wasn't living with them. He was getting into trouble, so his mom sent him to live with his uncle." Hastily, she added, "Luke."

Tristan snorted. "Your cousin, how Appalachian of you."

Defensively, she said, "Mom wasn't married to Luke back then."

"Hey, whatever you have to tell yourself," he said. So some other guy had more success when he hadn't, Tristan thought, meaning there was something fundamentally repulsive about _him_.

When Rory fell quiet, Tristan had an easier time focusing on the news article in front of him. He made it to the bottom of the page and was looking for the rest of it on another when Rory blurted out, "He told me I'd make a good assistant."

Tristan briefly glanced up from the paper as he thumbed to the page he was looking for. "What?"

"When I stole that yacht—I stole a yacht—it was because of a bad reaction to some career advice . . . from a—an important—person," she rambled. "During an internship."

Tristan blinked as he processed. "Was that why you 'took time' to look for something else to do?"

"Yes. I had a meltdown."

He nodded once. "Oh." Having found the correct page, he went back to his paper.

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

He didn't look up this time. "Nothing, just oh."

"It sounded loaded."

"Like a gun?"

"Like it makes sense. Do you think he was right?" she asked incredulously. "Because he was wrong, and I've been fine without his help."

He sat the paper on his lap and said, "Of course he was crazy. You were always going to be a great journalist. How dare he tell you something like that?" He raised a brow. "Better?"

She was frowning at him now. "What was that?"  
>"Pandering, what you wanted to hear."<p>

"I didn't want to hear anything."

"Didn't you?" he asked rhetorically. "You didn't like my first response."

Obviously offended, she asked, "You're saying you agree, then?"

Tristan shrugged dispassionately. "I don't see a point either way, you clearly picked yourself up. But I believe the story."

She scowled, letting him know he was walking a fine line, but he elaborated anyway, "You were pretty sheltered, _Mary_." She glared at the moniker, so he held up a hand before she could protest. "It helps make my point. You wanted to report the hard hitting news, but all you wrote in college was feature articles—"

"So?"

"—And everyone around you tells you how great you are—"

"You don't know that."

He tilted his head in disbelief. "As you've mentioned, I've met most of the people who know you—related or otherwise. If someone didn't, I need names," he said flatly. When his request was met with silence, he continued, "So I can _understand_ someone doubting your ambitions, and I _understand_ why it was earthshattering to be denied the praise you were used to. And from the king himself."

Rory crossed her arms and looked away.

Picking the paper back up, Tristan added, "It's a shock to the system when you don't get what you're entitled to."

"I never felt entitled to—." She stopped abruptly.

"It doesn't matter," Tristan said. "You proved him wrong. And I'm just a lawyer, so I don't know how anything I say about it makes a difference." He returned to the article, surprised Rory was still sitting in the same zip code as him. Forgetting what he'd read from the previous page, he had to flip back.

After a few minutes of silence, a decidedly less angry Rory said, "I think your dad hates me."

"He can't hate you, he doesn't know you." At least, it's the philosophy Tristan acquired at a certain point in life. "He was just busting your chops. It's how he gets his kicks."

"I stole someone's property," she said, tracing the design of the couch with her finger.

"So did I. You served your time."

"Yeah," Rory said reflectively. "But I went into the courtroom confident I wouldn't get into much trouble. Grandma and Grandpa did too—he made a scene when the judge gave me more community service hours. Everyone was sure I'd get off with the plea deal." She sighed heavily. "Which only proves your previous point."

"What about Lorelai?"

Rory paused for a moment before she said, "Mom didn't talk to me until I went back to school." A few seconds ticked by and she added, "She doesn't care for people who do whatever they want, either."

Tristan sat the paper down next to him and pressed his fingers together, propping his elbows on his knees. "My dad really does hate those cases. Do you want to hear my theory about him?"

"Sure."

"He hates when people break rules—and even more when they get away with it."

"Don't people pay him to get away with stuff?"

Tristan grinned and nodded. "Since he gets clients out of legal trouble, he takes it upon himself to punish their wallets."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Rory's mouth. "You think so?"

"Mm-hmm. It explains his sky-high fees."

"Do _you_ hate me?"

The girl was full of surprises this evening. Looking at her like she was crazy, he asked, "What for?"

"You were shipped off because of people like me. Your dad sounded just like that judge."

Tristan laughed a little. "Your felony was after mine, so it's chronologically impossible. Now if you _had_ gotten away with it, then he'd probably hold it against you. He respects a good character building experience."

"I guess we both have the other privileged kids to thank for the swift justice."

"No," he corrected, "we have ourselves to thank for that."

She thoughtfully tilted her head a little and gazed at him. It wasn't the first time she'd done so. He picked his paper back up like it was amour, avoiding the way she was looking at him. She really needed to stop doing that.

From behind the paper he said, "It doesn't matter if my parents like you or not. We're not dating, remember?"

"I know," she said. "But for what it's worth, Mom seems to like you—although it might be to spite Grandma. Our last movie night included singing sailors and a Navy JAG officer." Dryly, Rory added, "She's been getting on everyone's nerves telling them they can't handle the truth. Really, I think if she wasn't married, she'd date you."

He smiled a little. "At least I can get one of the Gilmore girls."

After a brief pause, Rory said, "I thought you weren't interested in getting one."

Tristan didn't respond, instead letting a few seconds awkwardly tick by in silence. He sat the paper down and stood. He checked his watch and said, "I think I'm going to head out." She was frowning at him, perplexed. "I guess I'll see you Tuesday night, unless something better comes up."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory walked through the front door of the house a half an hour later. The living room was dark, the only light came from the kitchen. It was a soft flickering light that made her not want to walk in. But there was no other route to her room. Sneaking through was her only option. She took a deep breath and took the plunge.

Luke and her mother were sitting at the table, smiling at each other. It looked like they'd finished their meal and had moved on to dessert. A group of candles flickered between them.

When Lorelai saw her daughter, she lifted her head higher. "Oh, hey."

Luke looked over his shoulder and hastily jumped up. "Rory, hi. Let me clean up a little and you can—"

"No, no," Rory said quickly. "Don't let me interrupt. I was just going to my room."

"No, it's okay," he said, picking up the plates from the table and putting them on the counter next to the sink.

Rory felt guilty as Lorelai helped move dishes and blew out the candles.

"I can make some coffee, if you want some," Luke said, taking a large canister out from the cabinet. "That was dumb. When do you ever not want coffee?"

Rory protested, "No, it's really—"

But her mother interrupted with a smile, "We'd love some."

A few minutes later, it was just the two women with the kitchen light on and the coffeemaker brewing. Her mother checked the time and commented, "It's kind of late. I take it dinner with the Dugray's was more successful than the Hayden's?"

"It was touch and go," Rory said. "Mason knew about my arrest."

"That's supposed to be expunged."

"I know. I think he might be all knowing."

"Hmm, God-like." Lorelai took two cups down from the cabinet and poured them each coffee.

Rory accepted the cup and looked around the quant kitchen. She was at the table talking with her mother, as she'd down so many times in her life. She knew for a fact Tristan wasn't doing the same with either of his parents, and wondered if he ever had.

"You might be right about them," she said. At Lorelai's inquisitive expression, she added, "About Tristan and his dad. They might not talk about normal stuff. It might just be business."

"That's sad," Lorelai said, having a seat.

Rory nodded in agreement. "A kid shouldn't have to tell their dad they want to have the same job as them just to get his attention during breakfast."

"Is that what Tristan did?"

"That's what it sounds like."

Lorelai patted Rory's arm. "I'm so glad you found something to fix."  
>"I'm not fixing anything. Their relationship is none of my business. I was just an observer." She thought for a second and said, "Although, I don't think it's fair for Tristan to say I have daddy-issues when he's the one wearing them on his sleeve."<p>

Lorelai sipped her coffee before saying, "He said you have issues?"

"Yes. Something about dating someone to fill the void left by my absent father."

"Someone?"

Rory took a drink. "Apparently, from the little Tristan knows about them, Dad and Logan are close enough to be the same."

"Oh," Lorelai said. A second later, she laughed a little. "Oh."

"What?" Rory said with a frown. "You don't agree do you?"

"Of course not," Lorelai said quickly.

"Don't lie."

"Okay. I guess if I took certain pieces information, and hold them next to each other, Chris and Logan do have some things in common."

"Great," Rory said flatly. "I have issues and Tristan Dugray is the one diagnosing me. Just what I was hoping for."

"Hey, _you_ are very well adjusted," Lorelai said firmly. "You probably weren't drawn to Logan because he reminded you of Chris."

Rory scoffed. "That's comforting. And incredibly creepy if wrong."

They sat and drank their coffee for a few minutes, Rory thinking about the evening. She asked Lorelai, "What would you have done if the police let you handle me when I stole that yacht?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Tristan's dad pulled him out of school and sent him away. What if I didn't get arrested? What if you had to decide my punishment?"

"Well, you were going through something," Lorelai said sympathetically, using the same phrase—or excuse—Rory had. "And it was the first time you'd gotten into trouble."

"So, what? You'd let me off the hook?" Rory asked with knit brows. "You hate kids who get away with everything because of who their parents are or how much money they have."

"I don't hate anyone."

"You said you did, I remember," Rory continued, for some reason not letting it go. "We were sitting right here when you said it." She indicated the kitchen.

"Is that conversation coming full circle now? Because I think we argued over it the first time. You defended them."

"Yeah, probably because I was becoming one of them," she said, dejected. "I morphed into someone you hate."

"Okay, stop. I could never hate you. You're different, you're special. And it was your first offense."

"This sort of thing is why you never liked Logan. He was tainted in your eyes from the beginning."

"I liked Logan a lot."

Rory gave her a look of utmost disbelief. "How can you even keep a straight face? You're happy I didn't marry him, aren't you?"

"For your information," Lorelai said, "I'm often struck with the wish I had Logan Huntzberger as a son-in-law."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." Lorelai stared off dreamily and sighed. "I could summer at the Vineyard."

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

Dreamy expression gone, Lorelai said, "I'm extremely funny."

Rory stirred her coffee, though it was unnecessary. "I stole from someone and got a party."

"Mom threw you a party?" Lorelai asked incredulously. "I knew she was thrilled to finally have you to herself."

Rory shook her head and came out of her reverie. "No—Logan's friends."

"Oh."

"I was officially one of them." She sat in thought for a minute more, sipping her coffee slowly. "You know, there's a club at Yale for people who are interested literature."

"Why didn't you join? You're a perfect fit."

"It's invitation only. They tap you if they want you." Apparently they hadn't wanted her. And if she let herself dwell on it, she did feel excluded.

"They should have tapped you," Lorelai said. "It was definitely their loss."

Rory stared at her mother for a moment. The compliment had come naturally, without possibility of being wrong. She blinked. "Wow."

"What?"

"He's right," she said. "Tristan is right."

"About what?"

Rory shook her head. "More things than I'm comfortable with."

Lorelai drained her cup and stood. "I should get back to Luke." After she'd put her cup in the dishwasher, she turned back to Rory. "If it makes you feel better, if it was up to me, I'd have locked you in the house and made you my servant. You'd have been scrubbing the floors on your hands and knees. And I would have had everyone call you Cinderory."

Rory smiled a little. "Thanks."


	8. VIII

**Story: **FamilyFeudalism

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **Thank you for reading and reviewing!

**VIII**

"Do you think Luke will let us have whip cream on these?" Rory asked Lorelai, looking down at her plate of chocolate chip pancakes. She put down her butter knife and picked up the syrup.

"He would think it's an excellent idea," Lorelai said, looking around the busy diner. "But just in case. . ." When she saw Luke was preoccupied with taking orders, she snuck around the counter. She found what she was looking for and reached over to spray some of the cream over her and Rory's pancakes.

"You're not allowed back there," Luke called out, walking behind the counter from the opposite side. He took the can of whip cream from Lorelai and ushered her back to her seat.

"We just needed a topping for our breakfast," she said defensively.

Luke looked at their plates in disgust. "You did not."

"If you don't want people to use the whip cream, you shouldn't have it available."

Rory listened to them argue as she dug into her pancakes. She hadn't had a decent meal in several days. She'd been on another assignment, for nearly a week again. She'd been too busy interviewing people and writing her articles from a tiny hotel room to take the time to eat more than once or twice a day. Now that she was over her jet lag, she had to unload her thoughts on her blog. She also had to reply to a few comments left—suspiciously—by a TCD.

The bell over the door jingled as someone walked in, and a second later, Tristan was standing next to Rory, causing her to a double take. "What are you doing here?"

"You're back," he said without answering her question.

"I know, what are you doing here?" She was too distracted by his appearance to wait for a response. "Did you walk here? Why are you all gross and sweaty?" His wet t-shirt was melded to his chest and he had on gym shorts.

"I rode my bike," he said, gesturing out the window.

Lorelai asked, "All the way from Hartford?"

"Outside of Hartford," he corrected. Then he added, "It's only about fifteen miles."

"Fifteen miles?" Lorelai deadpanned.

And Rory said, "Only?"

He nodded, as though this sort of behavior was normal. "I got up early and took the back roads."

Both women stared at him blankly. He might as well have said he flew in from the moon. "What?" he asked.

From behind the counter, Luke said, "They can't comprehend the concept. This is early for them and walking here from the house is the only physical activity they get."

Tristan looked Rory up and down slowly. When his eyes reached hers he said, "That's a shame."

At his tone, something involuntarily fluttered inside her.

He looked at her plate, and then to Lorelai's. He made a face not unlike Luke's and asked him, "Between the two of them, how many of their feet are the ones they were born with?"

"Miraculously, all four," Luke answered grimly.

Tristan asked Luke for some water and took a seat on the empty stool next to Rory. Luke approvingly left a pitcher before taking a couple plates of French toast and sausage from the kitchen and headed to a table.

"Coffee is far superior." Lorelai cradled her cup protectively.

"And dehydrating," Tristan said, pouring his water.

"So are you going to explain why you're here?" Rory asked him.

"Does everyone get this warm welcome? Or just me?" he asked rhetorically. Finally, he answered, "I wanted to make sure you were coming to paint today."

"I said I was. So I am."

"But you've already gone back on your word twice. So you can understand why I'm having trust issues with you."

"I told you where and why I was going," she said. "But now I'm back, so I'll be at your house this afternoon."

"I'm ready now."

"You aren't even at your house. And I'm not ready."

"Then I'll wait." He took a long drink of water, draining the glass.

"I have things to do first," she said. "Important things."

"Such as?"

"Blog," Lorelai answered for her daughter. "Her mind might explode if she doesn't."

"It can wait," Tristan said. "But I can't."

"Why?" Rory asked. "Hot date tonight? Need me to be out of the way before you bring a girl to your futon bed?"

Lorelai leaned closer to her, "How do you know what he sleeps on?"

Rory waved a hand dismissively and took a sip of coffee.

"I would if Emily Gilmore had anything to say about it," Tristan said, pouring more water.

Rory finished chewing a bite of pancake and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

Lorelai, having heard, bent over her plate to look at him too. "Uh-oh, Emily strikes," she said.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded. "There's a lovely girl who's just my type. Emily would like to introduce us."

"She knows your type?" Lorelai asked. "What do you suppose she thinks it is?"

"Probably closer to what I was expecting at Francine's," Tristan answered.

Rory could guess what he'd expected, which explained why he had no inclination to pursue _her_. She should have come to the obvious conclusion sooner. It made sense.

He drawled, "She's such a nice lady, that Emily Gilmore—so guilty over stopping Francine's set up. She'd like to schedule dinner at my earliest convenience."

"She's so accommodating," Lorelai said.

Whatever lightly fluttered inside Rory earlier was replaced by something heavier. She ate another bite slowly and kept her eyes on her plate. "That's . . . nice of Grandma."

Tristan gave her an unimpressed look and then glanced at Lorelai. "She's pretty naive, huh?"

"Yes."

"No I'm not," Rory said. "She wanted to find a distraction."

"Yes, because you're forbidden," Lorelai said.

"Which one of us?" Rory asked.

"Both," Tristan said.

"To each other," Lorelai added. Then she got that mischievous gleam in her eye. "She must not be familiar with Shakespeare."

Rory remembered the other matter her grandmother was taking care of. "Have you talked to Dad lately?"

"Yes," Lorelai answered. "He called me a couple days ago. Apparently, Mom told him Francine is throwing a party and you're the guest of honor. He thought it was a great idea. She did _not_ mention the part about it being a celebration of your birth," Lorelai said.

"_You_ could have clued him in."

"I could have," she agreed. "Except I got distracted when he asked what I wanted for my birthday. You know, since _I'm_ the real birthday girl around here."

Rory shook her head at the situation. "Grandma has too much time on her hands. I think she's the one who needs a distraction."

Lorelai stood and said, "Haven't you noticed? _You_ are her distraction in life." She took a few bills out of her purse and laid them on the counter. "I need to get to the inn. I'll see you later."

Luke returned to the counter and topped off Rory's coffee. She continued with her pancakes and Tristan ordered breakfast to go with his pitcher of water. Occasionally a diner patron would come over to greet—oddly—both of them.

When they were finished, she told Tristan, "You should go to Kim's Antiques."

"What for?"

"Furniture. Your house has character. New stuff won't look right in it. Neither will those stuffy couches at your parents' house." She quickly added, "And Grandma's."

"I can't believe you just called something in my parents' house stuffy," he said, with no conviction whatsoever.

Rory smiled a little. "Just go look. You could probably find a dining table that will fit between your front windows and the staircase. And even if you don't, I need to take Steve and Kwan their birthday presents."

With a pensive expression, he asked, "Wasn't their party two weeks ago?"

"Yeah, I missed it. I was out of town for—"

"A story. Of course."

She thought she saw Tristan's eyes cloud, but a second later they were clear again. "Well, yeah. I was out of town. So this way, I can give them their gifts and you can look at the furniture."

"I met Mrs. Kim," Tristan said slowly. "She reminded me of someone."

"Who?"

"Every authority figure at military school."

"You aren't afraid of her, are you?"

He scoffed. "No."

"Then let's go."

"Fine."

She led the way to the door and pointed to his bike. "How are you planning on getting that back to your house?"

"Your car."

"What if it doesn't fit?"

"I'll shove it in," Tristan said. "It'll work."

"Mom isn't here to say it, so I guess I have to. Dirty."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You aren't seriously going to sit and watch, are you?" Rory asked later, one hand occupied by a paint roller brush and the other at her hip.

"Yes," Tristan answered, from his position on the floor.

"Don't you have anything else to do?"

"Like what? It's Saturday."

"It's a good day to play catch up with work."

"I work when I'm at my office," he said, leaning back on the palms of his hands. "If you look around, you'll see I'm at home."

"Don't you ever have some e-mails to get out, or some . . . I don't know, contracts to look over, or litigation you need to work on?"

"I do have to do those things," he said. "It can wait until Monday."

Rory shook her head. "I didn't know you had such a lax work ethic. Thomas Jefferson said to never wait till tomorrow to do what can be done today."

"But no one ever lays on their deathbed wishing they'd worked more. I have boundaries." Tristan scanned the walls of the room. "Are you going to get started? Or are you just trying to stay as long as you can? I know you really like it here, probably because you have no home of your own."

"I have a home."

"Lorelai has a home."

She sighed in compliance. "I'm starting."

She rolled the brush in the paint and turned to the wall. It was the one adjacent to the windows and fireplace. Tristan had gotten the room ready to be painted two weeks prior, before Rory had postponed. There were old sheets on the floor to protect the wood, and he wasn't having the trim added until the walls were finished. There was tape along the top of the walls to keep the edge of the ceiling from getting painted.

He watched her roll the brush up and down. Her short sleeve shirt showed off her skinny pale arms. He presumed she had no upper body strength to speak of. She was going to be sore tomorrow. His eyes slid down to her legs, which were bare below a pair of old shorts. He liked her dressed-down look, but he did wonder how often she dressed up for a date. He was increasingly finding it hard to imagine her ever taking the time to let someone treat her to a night out.

"This sure is fun," she said, turning to show off an extra sweet smile.

"Is it?"

"Yup. It's actually a good way to pass the time. I'm having a blast."

Tristan smirked. "Good. I'm glad."

She rolled the brush in the paint and applied it to the wall. Though the work made her breathing uneven, she said, "I feel kind of bad, because I'm the only one having all this fun, and you're just sitting there. You must be bored."

Since she was facing the wall, she couldn't see him give her another once over. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine." In a southern accent, he added, "But you sure do make it look fun, Tom."

Rory flashed him a big smile and she laughed a little. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled genuinely and he grinned at her.

He laid down flat on his back—not entirely comfortable on the hard wood floor—and cushioned his head in his hands. His mind wandered to a topic that still bothered him—just a little. He considered everything he'd learned and an image of a college newsroom full of young ambitious reporters came to mind. A light bulb finally came on. "You and Huntzberger worked at the _Daily News_ together, didn't you?"

Rory glanced over her shoulder. "What?"

"You two wrote at the _Yale Daily News_ together—before you dated."

"Oh, yeah," she said, continuing with her task.

"That makes sense."

"Not entirely. Logan didn't like the paper much. He wasn't really into it since he wasn't getting a choice about his future."

After a few seconds, Tristan said, "No." He wasn't concerned with the guy, at least, not by himself. "I meant it's where you spent time together. He probably saw how driven you are and wanted to date you—instead of his usual type." Tristan knew what it was like, he attracted the same kind. Unfortunately.

The roller brush stopped on the wall. Rory turned to frown at him. "What?"

"Yeah, he probably got to know you on the paper and wanted to date you," he said again.

"Why do you say it like that?" she asked. "Like that must be what happened."

"Isn't it?"

Rory was still for a moment. "No. He didn't want to date me just because he saw me work on the paper." With her face screwed up, she shook her head and said, "I already told you, he didn't want to be my boyfriend at first."

"What do you mean?"

She shoved the brush in the paint, rolling it roughly a few times. "He wasn't a commitment guy, so we dated and also saw other people."

Tristan thought for a second. "You mean _he_ saw other people and you saw him."

"No," she said impatiently, returning the brush to the wall aggressively. "_We_ were not exclusive. _We_ saw other people and each other. I wasn't going to force him to be something he wasn't. It's called a compromise. It's what people do—they meet half way."

He thought compromise involved both people bending, not one. But he was making her upset, so he shrugged it off. "Fine. You both saw other people." After a minute of watching her attack the wall with light brown paint, he reconciled things in his head. "That probably didn't last long before he wanted to be with just you."

"What?" She held a hand out, palm up, in protest. "No." Agitated, she asked, "What is so hard for you to understand here?"

Without thinking, he said, "Because any idiot can see you're—." He stopped when her eyes narrowed in confusion, waiting to hear the end of his sentence. He quickly tried to cover, "I'm just speaking from my own experience. When I see someone seriously—and let's face it, they're all serious—I'm very territorial. Seriously—" he rambled, "I don't want her to even look at another guy. So it's only fair to hold myself to the same standard."

Rory stared at him for a few seconds. "Well Logan was fine with it," she finally said. Sarcastically, she went on, "But when I didn't want to do the casual thing anymore—and let's face it, Mary didn't like casual—he didn't want to go back to being friends. So he _did_ prefer me to his usual type." She stared at Tristan again, visibly tired of his inability to understand.

The awkward tension hung in the air. Determined to make it go away, Tristan rolled to his side so he could get up. He opened the bucket of paint and sat it on the shelf of the ladder on the wall opposite Rory. He dipped a brush in and started painting the corner to make a border that would make her job of filling in the middle easier. He could hear her return to her work.

"He got into Yale on name recognition," he said.

"What?"

Tristan turned slightly, but kept his attention on the wall. "Huntzberger got in because of his name."

"Why do you—"

"I'm just making an argument," Tristan interrupted. "I'm not sure if I even mean to do it. It just comes out—regardless of topic. I can't help it." He looked out the corner of his eye, straining to see if the excuse worked. He didn't really think it did, but he saw Rory nod once and turn back to her wall.

They continued to paint in relative silence, the only sound being Rory's heavy breathing from her more strenuous job. Tristan used the ladder to carefully paint along the top edge of the wall. They worked their way around the room until they had traded places from where they'd started.

As Tristan filled in the last bit of white with the light brown paint, he glanced down and saw Rory watching him. She didn't realize he'd turned, so he said, "What?"

She blinked rapidly and shook her head. "Nothing." She looked around the room to see their work. "It looks good."

Tristan climbed down from the ladder and put the paint on the floor. He glanced around too and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, nice color. I hope I picked out good ones for the upstairs rooms. Are you ready to start up there?" he asked, watching her reaction.

She frowned. "I only owed you one room."

"That was before you postponed twice. Think of another room as interest."

She put her hands on her hips, but apparently couldn't think of an argument. "Upstairs?"

"Yup," he said with a grin. He turned and headed for the staircase. "There are two, but I'll let you off the hook and only make you do one."

"Great," she said flatly. When they got to the top of the stairs, they faced three doors. They belonged to two bedrooms and a bathroom in between.

"Take your pick," he told her. "They're basically the same."

Rory pointed and headed to the room on the far right. Like the living room, it was ready for painting. She went over to the bucket and took the lid off to see the color. It was a very light orange. She looked around the room and asked, "What are you going to put in here?"

He blinked. It was an extra room in a house of a grown man who was ready to settle down. What did she think he'd do with it? He answered, "I don't have immediate plans."

She nodded. "Oh. Well, it's a pretty color."

"Want to switch places?" he asked, pouring paint in the try for the roller before picking it up.

"Sure," Rory said, claiming the smaller brush. She took the bucket of paint to the ladder as Tristan had done downstairs and started on a corner. She asked, "So are you going to go to Grandma's? To meet that girl?"

On the opposite side of the room, he shrugged. "Not if I can help it. But it depends."

"On what?"

"Emily's persistence," he said. "As I've mentioned before, getting little old ladies to leave me alone usually involves humoring them."

"Oh," she said. After a minute, she said, "I could talk to Grandma, if you don't want to go. "

Tristan glanced over his shoulder, but she had her attention on the wall. "I can handle her. But thanks, anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late Sunday afternoon, Rory was standing at the counter of an airline company at Bradley International Airport in Hartford. She glanced from the flight schedule up on the wall and then to her watch.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" she asked the woman behind the counter. "I don't take up much space."

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "There aren't any more seats. I can reserve a spot for you on the next flight. It leaves at five tomorrow morning."

Rory exhaled heavily, disappointed. She was about to buy her ticket when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Rory?"

Still concerned with her travel prospects, she turned and her heart sped up at the sight of him. "Tristan? What are you doing here?" He was in a suit and held luggage at his side. A carryon with a long strap was draped across his body.

"Heading to my plane for a business trip," he answered. "Where are you going this time?"

"Nowhere at the moment. I need to get to Egypt, but there aren't any open seats on the flight—it's leaving in ten minutes. I'm going to have to wait until morning."

Tristan glanced at the flight schedule and then gestured for her to follow him. "Come on."

"Where?" she asked as she hesitantly pulled her small suitcase behind her.

"You'll see," he said, grabbing her arm, forcing her to keep up.

She followed him to the lower level of the airport, to one of the small terminals where only a few staff members were stationed. They smiled at Tristan and Rory as they passed by and walked outside to a small plane.

As she walked with him, he turned enough for her to see him smirk. "If you want, I could pat you down—since we bypassed the T.S.A. And I'll be thorough."

Rather than glare at him, she just frowned. What purpose did he have to flirt with her? It wasn't the first time she'd wondered. She continued to follow him up the stairs attached to a plane.

"This is a jet," she said, when they were inside.

"I know," Tristan said, storing her suitcase and his own in a compartment.

"And we're the only ones on it," she continued.

"I know. That's why it's called a private plane," he said.

"Where are you going? I doubt Egypt."

"No. I'm meeting with clients in Germany, Prague, and Ireland."

"Egypt isn't exactly on the way."

"I'll take care of it," he said before excusing himself and going to the cockpit.

Rory looked around the cabin. There were couches along the windows and four seats farther to the back with seatbelts. There were two on each side, facing each other with a table in between. Assuming these were designated for takeoff, she sat in one and put her carryon at her feet.

Tristan returned several minutes later. He sat in the seat next to her and they both buckled up. The wait wasn't long before the plane's turn on the runway and it took off.

When they reached a cruising altitude, Rory asked, "So, your family has a private jet?"

"No, this is for business," he said, putting his briefcase on the small table in front of him.

"Oh." She paused in thought, then slowly smiled. "_My_ family has a private jet?"

"No," he said again, this time with furrowed brows. "_I_ have a jet. Me."

Great, she thought, another piece of the puzzle. "You have a house that's falling apart, but you also have a jet?" Dryly, she added, "That makes sense."

"It does, actually. This is a business investment and it's paying for itself," he explained. "I live in my house. I don't have to impress anyone there."

"Oh."

"It's practical," he went on, apparently needing to defend himself. "I have clients all over the world, this way I don't have to depend on the airlines. I can go do business and get back quickly."

"Oh," Rory said again. Carefully, she said, "And you could also take a spontaneous trip to Paris—a romantic getaway. With a girl. If you want." Smooth.

He turned to her to frown. "That sounded weird."

"No, it was completely without judgment."

"I know. That's why it sounded weird since it came from you," he said. "Are you into that sort of thing now?"

Rory brushed some strands of hair behind her ear. She looked over at him, wondering how she messed that one up. "No. It's just—I know some people can afford nice things and there isn't anything wrong with it. That's all I meant."

Tristan leaned his cheek on his fist, his elbow on the arm rest. The way he looked at her made her feel like she disappointed him.

"What?" she asked, concerned.

"Nothing. I just thought you were more down to earth than that."

"I am," she said quickly. "I always think of practicality before comfort. All my extra money goes toward retirement. And I'm on planes so much, the appeal is really gone."

"I have to show off for work," he said. He averted his gaze, staring at the table in front of him. "But beyond that . . ." He trailed off in thought before slowly continuing, "When money stopped buying what I wanted, it kind of lost its value." He came out of his trance to look back at her and saw her perplexed expression. "The people worth being around can't be bought—I've found."

"Oh." She thought of the baseball tickets that hadn't bought his dad's time, though she couldn't see why anyone would want to endure his badgering.

Tristan went on, "My parents are better at showing off their wealth. My mom has designer handbags and—everything—to parade around. And my dad has my mom."

Rory took a couple seconds before she processed. "Did you just compare your mother to a purse?" she asked, brows inching closer together with indignation. She felt much less sympathy for him than she had a moment ago.

"Yes."

"She's a person, not a thing. Objects are—"

"Expendable."

"Yes, and—"

"Interchangeable," he said in agreement. "Just like my car. If I get bored in a year, I'll go out and get a Lexus. Or a BMW. There're lots of choices."

"I can't believe you're comparing your mother to a car."

"Why? _You_ already have."

"I have not," Rory said.

"You might as well have. You said I can only get girls who'll settle for being one of my status symbols. What else could you mean by that? And what would you call my mom?" He asked, "Is it suddenly different when I put a face on it?"

She glared at him. "You're twisting what I said. I was just—joking around," she tried.

"Mm-hmm. I'm sure you don't mean to be a hypocrite," he said, not getting upset about it. He held up his wrist out toward her. "What do you think of my watch?"

Rory, confused, glanced at it and shrugged. "It's nice."

He nodded in agreement and said, "And really expensive—that's important. I got it from my parents for Christmas last year. Not because it's something I'd like. They got it because I'm one of their things and they have to accessorize me."

"Or," she said pointedly, "they were being thoughtful. Just because a person gives someone a gift doesn't mean they see the person as their possession."

"I think I know more about it than you, but okay," he said. "I didn't mean to strike a nerve."

"You didn't," she said firmly. Not wanting to discuss it anymore, she turned her attention to her carryon. She took out a list of travel items she needed and made sure she'd packed them all.

After a few minutes of mutual silence, Tristan spoke again, "Rory."

"What?" She kept her attention on her bag.

"My mother is my mother. It doesn't matter where she ranks on the social scale or what other people see. I'm the one person in the world who'll love her regardless," he said. Out the corner of her eye, she could see him shuffling some papers. "To me, she'll always be my mom first."

Rory turned to look at him, but he was focusing on whatever was in front of him. "Oh." Yet again, he left her with nothing better to say. Lamely, she added, "Good."

"Don't forget she's expecting you this Thursday," he said, changing the direction of the conversation. "When you're there, you should ask her to tell the story about how she could have been a dancer."

"Why didn't she?"

"She had me and lost her figure."

"But she's so skinny," Rory argued. "I haven't seen her eat."

"I don't think she does," Tristan mused. He laughed lightly and shook his head. He glanced over and saw she had her camera out to check its batteries. He pointed to it. "You should take a picture if you see her eat Thursday night, I'll need proof."

"Sure," Rory said with a small smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Much later, Tristan slowly woke up from a night of sporadic sleep. He could never sleep very well in plane seats. He looked at his watch and saw it was early morning. Rory was laying on one of the couches unconscious, apparently having more luck than him. But he supposed she had a lot of experience getting shut eye wherever she could get it. Her hands were pressed together from their place under her head. There were pillows available, he should have told her where they were.

The pilot had not been particularly pleased with the additional stop on their trip, but Tristan promised additional payment. Didn't the guy know it took kind gestures to get a girl? Giving a ride to northern Africa was all in a day's work.

Tristan got up and took a blanket down from an overhead compartment and covered Rory with it. He watched her sleep for a moment before returning to his seat. He couldn't quite understand. He'd liked her when she was young and innocent—maybe because that's what she was. But now he still liked her, despite her imperfections. Or—again—maybe because of them. They gave him the illusion they were on even keel. He got as much pleasure from getting her to smile at him as he did to make her scowl.

And maybe it was slightly more than like he felt for her.

She was some sort of rarity—a real person who also met the approval of his family. He probably had Lorelai to thank for that. Rory might appear plain in comparison to other women with similar family backgrounds, but for some reason, it made her stand out—to him at least. It made her different. She could only be won over by substance. Flash and easy charm wouldn't work on her.

But for all her appeal, there was something inaccessible about her. She was always coming and going. She obviously hadn't let anyone in for a long time. Her lifestyle made sure of it, and Tristan wasn't blind to it. He sighed and turned his attention to some paperwork he had out.

When he was flipping pages a little while later, a tired Rory asked, "What do Navy lawyers do?"

He glanced up, surprised she was awake. She was still curled up on the couch, but he wondered if she'd been watching him. He cleared his throat and in his own sleep filled voice, said, "It depends. They do a lot of different things. Some deal with international, or environmental, or administrative law. Some give advice on laws of war." He added, "I mostly gave legal counsel to personnel on the base."

She adjusted her legs under the blanket. "What kind of counsel?"

He shrugged a little. "Whatever they needed—civil law, like, drawing up wills, or helping with leases. And defense for court-martial. Sometimes a couple would want to adopt, so they came to our offices first."

Rory thought about it a second. "Don't they move around a lot though?"

"It's not a problem," he said.

"So you had a lot of variety."

"Yeah."

Then she asked, "What do you do now?" Before he could answer, she cut him off. "And don't use the word international."

"Okay," he said. "I go to board meetings for corporations. They want cheaply made goods and I know the labor laws in places like Saipan. Although that's actually part of the U.S."

"That place is terrible," she said. "It's like a Dickens novel with their outdated laws to keep those sweatshops running."

"Mm-hmm."

A full minute passed before Rory slowly asked, "Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"Your job. Do you like what you do now?"

He shrugged. "Sure. It's fine." If he practiced, he might be able to muster more conviction when he said it. And maybe one day he'd learn to like his smug, self-satisfied clients too.

"And don't forget, you're the link," she said.

"Hmm?"

"You're the connection to your dad's firm. He needs you for his takeover scheme."

"Yup," he agreed. "I'm the bad guy in the story."

Rory made a noise of—possible—disbelief before she nestled into her blanket and closed her eyes. Tristan was pretty sure she wasn't asleep. After a half an hour or so, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and took the seat opposite him, apparently seeking out his company a bit more intimately—maybe he was making progress.

"So, Egypt," he said.

She nodded and covered her mouth as she yawned. "They're having their presidential election and there's some protesting."

"I see."

She reached over for her carryon and pulled out her laptop. She did some clicking and then asked, "Have you been leaving comments on my blog?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered.

"Your middle name is Cecilia, isn't it?"

He snorted. "No, it's Charles. Unlike you, I know both of my grandfathers."

"So it is you," she said. If she wasn't so tired, she might have sounded more accusatory. She frowned at her screen. "Do you really expect me to answer all these?"

"Yes."

"Do I leave that many holes in my articles that you need more details?"

"Not details, just thoughts." He added, "Maybe argue for the sake of an argument."

She stared at him warily and sighed as she turned to her laptop. He reached over the small table to clasp her wrist. She looked up and he knew his touch had excited her—even if against her will. He savored the knowledge for a moment before slowly letting her go. "You don't have to type out responses. I'm sitting right here."

"Right, we can do it orally," she said, shutting the laptop.

Tristan closed his eyes, laughing a little. Perhaps it was testament to the early hour, because Rory giggled with him at her unfortunate word choice.

He commented, "Dirty."

Smiling, she said, "Please explain how you can possibly defend the burka."

"I'm glad you picked that one," he said. "There are always two sides to every story."


	9. IX

**Story: **Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **We have arrived at the muddle . . . I mean middle.

**IX**

Tristan was in his office late one morning. A television in the corner of the room was on, tuned to a twenty-four hour news network. It'd been on all day, every day, for several days. He kept the volume at a low level, just in case Egypt came up. And when it did, he stopped working all together to watch. Rory was still there. He hadn't heard anything from her since their shared plane ride.

It was dangerous in parts of the country due to the elections. Tristan didn't know what he was expecting to see by keeping the news on all day. Would he catch a glimpse of Rory in a background shot? Probably not. He kept dreading the possible announcement of an injured journalist. Or worse. He wouldn't rest easy until she was back in Connecticut—that much was clear at this point.

He was having trouble with the nights. He couldn't sleep with the television on, but didn't want to turn it off. And it was easy to give into the temptation of leaving it on, since his television was still in his room. So he'd get up and increase the volume while he worked on various parts of his house. He painted the second upstairs bedroom. He put new light bulbs in all the empty sockets. He wasn't planning to put the trim in himself, but went for it. A construction crew was working on the basement, he was going to paint down there within the next couple days.

Rory had gone to cover stories several times over the last month. But anxiety hadn't been a problem for him. Maybe being with her on the ride—which lasted several hours—made it more personal. They had a lot of alone time, and even got to see a few sights in Europe during a stop. They'd had lunch at a café, where they sat at an outdoor table on the sidewalk. She predictably wanted to stop for coffee afterward, and Tristan may have accidentally said something meant for his private thoughts.

He glanced up at his office television and back down to the work he was having difficulty focusing on. When a familiar figure passed by his door, he did a double take. "Mom?" he called out.

Cecilia took a step back and poked her head in. "Yes?" She focused on him and frowned. "You look awful."

"You look too skinny."

She smiled widely. "Thank you. Why are you biting your nails?"

"What?" He looked down at his hand. Apparently he'd taken to biting his thumb nail while watching the news without realizing. "Oh." He rested his arm on his desk. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father thought it would be a good idea to take Abram to the club for lunch," she said. "It might give him an idea of how enjoyable retirement will be."

"Ah," Tristan said returning to his work. He grabbed a book from a shelf behind him and flipped through its pages.

About ten minutes later, his mother returned with the law firm's patriarch at her arm. She stopped at Tristan's door. "Don't forget you're coming to that charity event next Tuesday evening for the children's hospital."

"Am I?" Abram asked.

Cecilia turned to him and patted his arm. "I was talking to Tristan actually." She quickly added, "But you're welcome to come if you'd like."

"Did I know about this?" Tristan asked.

"I'm sure you did."

He was about to mutter his argument, but checked the calendar on his wall to see she was right. He had known about the fundraiser. "Oh. All right, fine. I'll see you there."

"And be sure to bring a date, you have a chair to fill."

He warily glanced at the television and back to his mother. "I don't know if I'll be able to find someone."

"Nonsense, just ask Rory." She turned to the old man. "Your niece."

"He knows who she is," Tristan said. "And she's out of town."

"Oh, well, find someone else then," Cecilia said flippantly. "And I'll see you tonight."

"You will?"

"It's Thursday," she reminded him. "I now have an empty seat at the table."

His head fell back with donning. The Passover Seder. He sighed. "Fine."

As his mother started down the hall with the old man, Tristan told her, "Don't keep him out too long, I wanted to talk to him this afternoon."

"Yes of course," she said with a wave.

He could hear Abram as they walked down the hall, "Your son is very interested in my family tree."

Sure, interested, Tristan thought dryly. If he could find a relative of the Hayden's—long lost or otherwise—maybe everyone could be happy. He was probably too optimistic though.

The administrative assistant walked in, smiling politely as she handed over his mail. Absently, Tristan sat the envelopes on his desk as he glanced from his work to the news.

"Your eleven o'clock appointment is here," she said.

Tristan shuffled the papers around on his desk and turned off the television. "Send them in."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

A couple days later, Emily walked through the doors of the Dragonfly Inn. She was early for her DAR meeting, so she had time to visit with her daughter. She approached the service desk, where Lorelai was on the phone.

"I haven't heard from her in a few days. Sometimes she's in places where there isn't service," Lorelai said. "I'm sure she's okay though." When she noticed Emily, she smiled and turned around, as though no one would be able to hear her.

"I promise to have her call you when she gets back. All right, bye," Lorelai said before hanging up and turning back around. "Oh hi, Mom. The rest of your sewing circle is already in the dining room."

"I have a few minutes," Emily said. "Who were you on the phone with just now?"

"That's confidential."

"It didn't sound like business. It was personal. Who was the she you mentioned?"

"Rory," Lorelai admitted, picking up a clipboard and pretending to be engrossed with whatever was written on it.

"Is she all right?" Emily asked quickly. She'd been keeping her eye on the news for days, as she always did when Rory was covering a dangerous world event.

"She's fine."

"You said you haven't heard from her in few days, you have no idea."

"I think she's fine. She's probably fine," Lorelai said, setting the clipboard back down.

"Who wanted to know?" Emily asked again.

Lorelai was quiet for a moment, as though deciding whether or not she should answer. Finally, she said, "Tristan."  
>"How does he know where she is?"<p>

"He gave her a ride."

Emily frowned. "How did he give her a ride? She went to Egypt."  
>"He was on his way to Europe for business and saw Rory in the airport," Lorelai said quickly. "She couldn't get a flight so he offered a ride. On his privet jet."<p>

Emily stared for several seconds. "Private jet? Who needs something so extravagant?"  
>Lorelai didn't say anything to that. She just raised a brow, nonplussed.<p>

"That must have been thousands of miles out of his way," Emily continued.

"That explains why they had to stop to refuel. That's when she called. They were having lunch while they waited."

Lunch in a foreign country? With Tristan? "What could he possibly be thinking?" Emily stewed for a moment. "He's in love with her, isn't he?"

Now Lorelai looked disbelieving. "That's the first conclusion you jump to? They're friends. Friends give each other rides."

"In cars, Lorelai. When they're going to the same place or same direction. _Not_ in privet jets to different continents. Are you really that naïve?" she demanded. It was reminiscent of Luke swooping to Lorelai's aid at the drop of a hat. "Was this the first time he's called?"

"Yes," Lorelai said. Then she added, "For the day."

"Has he been harassing you all week?"

"I wouldn't call it harassing. He's just a little worried," she reasoned. "He wants to know she's all right."

"She isn't his concern," Emily said evenly.

This was absurd. First a baseball game and now carpooling across the Atlantic by jet. Emily knew her granddaughter. Rory would give anyone a chance, it was her nature. Some of her innocence still remained, even as an adult. It was the only logical explanation. It was no problem, Emily told herself, and not for the first time. Rory just didn't have other options available. But that would soon change. She wouldn't have to settle for whoever was around—which was obviously what she was doing.

Emily had a week. It would have to be enough time.

If only Tristan would agree to dinner. Quinn was a much more suitable match for him, in every possible way. Simply getting them in a room together would prove that. But since he was being obstinate, this party was a God-send. He wouldn't be able to avoid Emily this time. He'd be out of the picture in no time. Francine would have to find some other solution to losing her family's legacy. It wasn't Rory's problem.

Emily thought back to her list. Biddy Charleston had a grandson just a little older than Rory. And Beatrice Atwater's two nephews were very successful, and they'd gone to Princeton. It wasn't Yale, but it would do. What Emily really needed to find was a journalist. Someone Rory could talk to for hours. They could share stories about being on the road. Once again she thought of Rory's perfect match. She quickly shook it off, it wouldn't do to dwell.

"Emily, there you are," Quinn said from the entrance of the dining room. "Are you ready to start?"

Emily turned to the young blond woman. "Yes, I'll be right there." She made a mental note to call Tristan again this afternoon. It wouldn't hurt anything to try once more before the party.

"New recruit?" Lorelai asked sardonically.

Emily turned back to her daughter. "It's an honor to be a Daughter of the American Revolution, Lorelai. And you're eligible," she said. "It wouldn't kill you to join."

"I'd rather not take that chance," Lorelai said as the phone rang. Quickly, she picked it up and gave Emily an insincere smile of apology as she greeted the caller.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the following Monday, Rory was in a state of limbo, between sleep and awake. She mumbled something at the feeling of being nudged on the shoulder.

"Rory," she heard through a fog.

She turned and buried the side of her face into her pillow.

"Wake up," her mother said, rocking her shoulder again and bouncing on the bed a little.

Rory groaned in protest and sighed. She opened her eyes, only enough to see through slits. "What?"

"Were you dreaming?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"You were smiling like it was a good dream. Maybe even dirty." She paused. "In which case, maybe I should leave."

"I wasn't having a dirty dream." Being asleep wasn't necessary.

"I you say so," Lorelai said. "Now that you're up, would you please call your gentleman friend? He's been calling me all week to find out if you're all right."

Slowly, Rory asked, "Tristan's been calling you?"

"So he's the gentleman who comes to mind. Interesting." Lorelai handed over a cup of coffee she'd sat on the desk. "And yes, he has."

Rory took a grateful sip. At the smell and taste of the hot liquid, an image flashed through her mind. And it wasn't rated for general audiences. After eating lunch during a fuel stop, she and Tristan had strolled into a coffee shop. Not because he wanted to partake in the delicious caffeinated beverage, but because Rory insisted she needed some. At the strong aroma of the coffee beans, Tristan had made an odd comment.

"This is probably what you taste like."

It was innocent enough, and not without merit. It was really just a logical conclusion, considering her heavy coffee intake. But she kept—unconsciously—thinking about what it would be like if he did take a taste. Of her.

"So tell me about the jet," Lorelai said.

Rory shrugged. "It was a small plane. There were chairs and tables and a couple couches. That's it." She added, "It's just for business."

"Grandma was very happy to hear he helped you get to where you were going."

"I'll bet."

"Speaking of your grandmother—"

"Oh boy."

"Yes, that's exactly what you should be thinking." Lorelai reached over to the desk to pick up a rectangle of card stock. She handed it over. Rory read the elaborate calligraphy of the party invitation.

"So this is happening," she said flatly.

"Full steam ahead. And since Francine couldn't get your input while you were out of town, Christopher has been helping her. Except here's the thing. He didn't have all the answers," Lorelai said. "So he's been calling me. It should be a swell party. The cake will have a layer for every flavor. They wanted to cover their bases."

"That actually doesn't sound bad."

"Mm-hmm. And did you get to the best part?" She pointed to the bottom of the invitation.

"That's Grandma's address," Rory deadpanned. "Why is Francine's party at Grandma's?"

"She high jacked it," Lorelai said, amused. "When she added her guests, there wasn't going to be enough room at Francine's house for everyone. So Emily, being the classy broad she is, offered her house."

"How many guests did she invite?" Rory asked incredulously. She didn't even have many friends in the area.

"Well, that's actually tied into the good news."

"I'm not sure we have the same idea of good news, but I'll humor you."

"She's shifted focus off embarrassing Francine about getting your birthday wrong."

"Oh," Rory said. "That is good. But where did she shift focus to?"

Lorelai smiled. "To beating Francine."

Rory blinked. "Physically?"

"No," Lorelai said with a laugh. "In the 'Find Rory a Husband' contest."

"You were kidding about that," Rory said with a groan. "Grandma knows you were kidding, doesn't she?"

"I really can't vouch for that one way or another. She definitely feels threatened."

"About what?" Rory asked. "There's nothing to be threatened about. I told her not to worry."

"Yes, but you've given her the idea Francine is winning."

"It's not a contest." Hastily, she added, "And Francine isn't winning anything. We're . . . friends."

"Hey," Lorelai said cheerfully. "A little more practice and people are going to believe it when you say that."

Rory wanted to bury her head in her pillow again. But she had her coffee in her hand so she couldn't without making a mess. Instead she took a sip. 'That's probably what you taste like'. He could have at least smirked when he said it. Then she'd have an idea if he was serious or not. She scratched that thought. She was less and less sure his lewd remarks were jokes.

Shaking her said, Rory said, "Friends get along. We argued for twenty minutes about the cultural aspects of women wearing burkas."

"Was he for or against?"

"For," Rory answered. "Until we stopped arguing. Then he said he didn't agree with anything he said. He was just debating for sport."

"Lawyers."

"Weirdoes." They'd made it through all the comments he'd left her over the course of the ride.

Lorelai commented, "You never blogged about Southeast Asia."

Rory frowned. "I didn't?"

"No. I recommended it to some guests at the inn—you know, a shameless plug. You never know when someone from the Huffington Post might be in earshot, looking for a good blog post for the homepage. Anyway, you haven't updated in a couple weeks."

"Oh," she said. Tristan had asked about it when they were painting the upstairs bedroom. She wondered how she'd forgotten to write about it afterward, since it was fresh in her mind. "I owe him."

"Who?"

"Tristan."

"Oh, we're back on him. That was a short break."

"He saved me airfare," Rory said. "He's probably going to make me paint another room in his house."

"How is it looking? Still dilapidated?"

"No, it's getting better," Rory answered. "And he got some furniture from Mrs. Kim. A dining room table—almost out from Steve and Kwan, they were doing homework. But he bought a different one. And a—."

A headboard for a bed, Rory thought to herself. She hadn't picked it out or anything. But she didn't _not_ have a say in it. She just pointed out pros and cons for the two he was considering.

"A what?" Lorelai asked.

Rory answered, "Uh, chairs. Chairs to go with the table."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That evening, Rory stood in front of Tristan's front door. It was just after six, so she knew he'd be home from work. She knocked and waited a minute. When the door swung open, she inhaled in surprise. He was a sight for sore eyes, and the corners of her mouth felt an uncontrollable need to turn up slightly. He looked different though. His eyes were dark, and he apparently hadn't shaved in a few days. There was something else, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

A few extra seconds passed them by as they stared at each other. Hastily, she cleared her throat and said, "Hi. I just got back. Well not just. I slept most of the day, I got in late last night."

Tristan's eyes had been tense when he opened the door, but they were softening now, as though relaxing. He blinked a couple times. "Hi."

A couple more ticked away. "Hi," she said again.

He awkwardly opened the door wider, as though finally remembering etiquette. Rory stepped in and looked around. Like its owner, the house looked different than last she'd seen. Lights had fixtures. The dining area had a table.

She followed him to the kitchen and they took their familiar places. She noted new tile covering the wall in the space between the counter and the upper cabinets. "It's starting to look like a house," she commented.

He nodded. "Yeah, I got some stuff done . . . while you were away."

"I didn't have service," she said quickly. "Cell phone service. So I might have missed a call or two. If you called."

"Oh. I did once or twice," he said. "To make sure you were okay."

"I was."  
>"Good."<p>

"So," she led, "I guess I owe you for the plane ride. Are there more rooms that need painting?"

He thought about it for a moment. "The upstairs rooms are finished. The living room is done, and I worked on the basement over the weekend. I've done as much with it as I'm going to do, for now at least."

"I haven't seen the basement."

"It's downstairs."

"I gathered."

He slowly asked, "Do you want to see it?"

"Sure," she said, standing.

The staircase served as a divider between the kitchen and small dining room. One could circle around the stairs and end up back in the kitchen without running into a dead end. Alongside the ascending staircase was a set leading to the basement. Across the way was the first floor bathroom. Rory followed him down, the temperature cooling with each step. The basement walls were eggshell white. There was a large room with a couple windows and a set of double doors leading out to a patio. By the looks of it, Rory guessed he'd eventually have the patio redone.

The floor was finished with large white tiles. "This will be cold on bare feet," she commented.

"I'll get a big rug. This is where the television and comfortable furniture will go," he said, indicating the empty room.

"A second living room?"

"Mm-hmm, what are those called? Great room?"

"Or family room."

"Yeah."

She went over to look out the windows to the back yard. She saw more of the brick building to the left and frowned. "Is that part of your house over there?" When she tore her eyes away from the window, she quietly gasped in surprise. Tristan was standing right behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

"Yeah," he said. "It's the guest house."

"How do you get to it?"

"From outside. Or through the garage," he answered. "It's actually connected to the main house."

She put her hands at her hips. "You had a whole other house hidden away."

"I'm a real man of mystery."

Rory carefully stepped away from him to look at the rest of the basement. "What's going on in there?" She pointed a small room in the corner, it was almost tucked under the stairs. It had new cream colored carpet and the double doors were comprised of windows. She went closer get a better look. "Ooh, you know what you could put in here?" she asked with a smile, turning back to him. "A library."

Tristan walked over and shook his head. "Or, a few couches." He pointed at the wall opposite him as well as the one adjacent, which had two levels, like a theater. "A big screen television here by the door," he said, pointing to the corner, then to the other. "And a mini bar in that corner. The room is soundproof."

Rory wrinkled her nose. "My idea is better." She pointed along the walls. "You could put shelves up all around. Just think of all the books that would fit in here."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I think you're confused about who's going to live here."

"I am not. It'll be you and—I don't know . . . anyone else you let live here. Someday. If you plan to live with other people. Small people even, if you want those. One day."

He looked at her for a few seconds. "It that's your way of saying wife and kids, your comfort level with the topic is extraordinary." He turned around and pointed to a door. "There's another room."

"Bedroom?"

"That's what I assume it is, there's a head attached."

"Isn't that a bathroom right next to it?" she asked, indicating another door next to the bedroom.

"Yeah." He frowned. "Wait, how did you know I meant bathroom?"

"When you live with a crazy person, you pick some stuff up."

This didn't explain much, so Tristan's brows furrowed in addition to his frown.

She asked, "How many bathrooms does the place have?"

"Five. Unless you count the guest house, then six."

Rory did some counting. "And four bedrooms."  
>"Five with the guesthouse."<p>

"You have your work cut out for you."

"Do I?"

"Well, yeah—if you want to fill the house in a—a traditional way," she said awkwardly.

Tristan started for the stairs. "When I bought the house, I didn't sign a clause specifying how I have to fill the rooms," he said dryly. "I can do whatever I want with them."  
>"Right," she said, following him. "Of course you can. I wasn't implying anything."<p>

"Sure."

"You could turn one into a home office."

"That's an oxymoron," he said, approaching the top of the stairs. "I think I've made my philosophy on that pretty clear." When they reached the first floor he asked, "Do you want to see the guest house?"  
>"Yes."<p>

She followed him through a short hallway, passing a laundry room before they went through the garage door. Along with his black Mercedes, there was a piano.

"Where's that going to go?" she asked.

"Living room," he answered. "I got it from an estate sale Saturday. You know, because I needed stuff with character." He slid the covering back to display the keys. "It'll annoy my mom."  
>"How?"<p>

"It's only an upright."

"It's still a piano, it'll play." She reasoned, "We have an upright and no one plays it."

"I noticed," he said. "I haven't decided if I'm going to have it tuned or not. I'm leaning toward not."  
>"Why?"<p>

"Picture it, it's Christmas, and my parents are here—I know that's unrealistic, but stick with me—when someone suggests we sing _Jingle Bells_. So, I'll come over, and . . ."

Rory stepped closer to watch as he played the introduction with a chord. It was all out of tune and she cringed.

Tristan grinned. "Imagine my mom's face."

Rory did, and smiled slowly back at him. "She's going to hate that."

He nodded. "I know. I think it'll be worth it."

He pulled the covering over the keys and turned his head to lock eyes with Rory. He tiled his head closer to her. Without thinking, she lifted her chin, but he stopped.

With a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips, he said, "Just kidding." He turned to continue through the three car garage to a door at the corner.

She watched him with narrowed eyes as her heart beat much faster than it needed to. She willed it to slow down before she followed him.

The guest house had a small kitchen with room for a table next to it. Rory wandered into a modest sized living room and peeked into a doorway to the bedroom. Tristan was studying the cabinets when she returned to the kitchen.

"It's like a pool house," she commented.

"If I had a pool, yes."

"I lived in a pool house once. For a few months," she said. "At Grandma's."

"Ah."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I see."

"I didn't stay."

"All right." Then, "Is that the whole story?"

"Pretty much. You already know the rest."  
>"You should start thinking about who's going to play you in the movie," he said. "Because Hollywood is definitely going to come knocking."<p>

She shot him a look.

He glanced around the empty living room. "It doesn't need too much work. Just new paint. Everything else is fine." He added, "I don't even know if I'm going to do anything with this."

"You could use if for guests," Rory deadpanned.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "I'm not in a hurry with it."

"So that's the whole house," she said. "No secret passageways or hidden rooms?"

"Nope. This is it." He held the door open for her and turned off the light. They went back through the garage to the main house.

When they were in the kitchen again, she asked, "What still needs to be done?"

"Mostly little things here and there. And then put stuff in to make it look like someone lives here," he answered. "Oh wait. There _is_ one room left. I haven't done anything with my room."

"The master bedroom."

"That's my room."

"Do you know what color it's going to be?"

Tristan picked up the paint samples from the counter and flipped through it. He pointed to a pale blue and handed it over. Her first thought was how the color very nearly matched his eyes. She gave her head a quick mental and physical shake.

"You don't think it'll work?" he asked.

She looked up. "Oh, no. It should be fine. I think."

"You can go look if you want."

Her eyes flashed to his.

"You've been in there before. It's just a room."

"Right. I know," she said hastily, turning to go take a look. She was an adult. She could handle being in a bedroom. It was just a room, like any other. She walked in and held the paint sample up, like she'd done with the living room when picking a color. She also imagined the room occupied with the real bed. It actually wasn't too hard to do.

"Well?"

She jumped slightly and looked over at the door. Tristan was leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets and watching her. He looked pretty good doing it.

"It'll work," she said. "Do you have the paint? I'm ready whenever you are." She quickly added, "To paint."

"I got that." His brow just barely arched. "What else would you be talking about?"

"Nothing." She went on, "I'm free now."

"Tonight isn't good for me. I have a thing to go to. A dinner."

"Oh." That's what it was, she thought. He looked different because he was still wearing his dress slacks and tie—in his house. He was out of place. It was akin to Rory and her mother wearing their Friday night dinner clothes in their own kitchen.

"At Emily's, actually," he added.

She frowned. "Grandma's? Why?"

"She called over the weekend. She still wants me to meet that girl. It worked out to go tonight."

"That's handling her? Impressive," she said sardonically. "How about tomorrow night then? I could bring pizza. For dinner."

He shook his head. "I have a thing tomorrow too."

"You have a lot of things all of a sudden."

"It's a charity event for the children's hospital," he said, strolling into the room. "My mom has a table, and she has to fill all the chairs." He took a seat on the futon and picked a shoe up from the floor. It was shoved slightly under the piece of furniture.

"I know how those things work," Rory said.

"She put me down for two," he said, putting his shoe on. "I have to take a guest."

"Oh." Rory imagined her calendar, trying to recall if she had anything on the following evening.

He went on, "That's why I have to go to Emily's tonight. I need someone to take along."

"You're taking Grandma?"

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "No. That girl she wants me to meet—Quinn something or other."

Rory's stomach dropped. "Oh. So you're seeing her then?"

"No. Just meeting." He added, "I didn't have a choice."

Rory crossed her arms. "There are always choices."

"Like who? Do you know of someone?" His question was met with silence. "Don't name them all at once, I want to write them down."

Slowly, she said, "I'm sure you could think of someone."  
>"I just need someone who will definitely fill the seat." To get his point across, he added, "Without canceling."<p>

"Any warm body that can fill a chair?" Falling short of a joking tone, she said, "You have really high standards."

"Semantics, Rory, pay attention."

Something flopped inside her when he said her name.

"I said _will_, not can." Pointedly, he said, "I had a thrilling time at the Seder last week."

Rory's eyes widened. "Passover—I forgot. Is your mom mad?"

"She's fine. I filled your place."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You had something more important to do." He reached under the bed for his second shoe. He dragged it along the floor, bringing a few newspaper clippings with it, they were fastened together by a paper clip. He slid his foot into the shoe and picked up the articles. He bent over to check under the bed and picked up a couple more strays. "Looks like some didn't get back to Emily," he said as he stood.

"I'll make sure she gets them," Rory said, holding her hand out.

Tristan jerked his hand away. He thumbed through them, skimming for the topic. His expression darkened. "You went to Syria?"

"Yeah, a few years ago."

"What the hell were you doing there?" he said as lines formed on his forehead. He glared at her.

She returned his sour expression. "I was covering the uprising. It was part of the Arab Spring—the same reason I went to Bahrain before that."

"That was violent," Tristan said. "People died."

"I know—thousands. That's why I was there. Their army was killing civilians. It was massive abuse of human rights."

"I'm not talking about Syrians. I'm talking about you," he said. "Journalists died over there—foreign journalists. _You_ could have died."

Her eyes narrowed, bewildered, and she took a step closer. "I'm standing right here. I'm fine."

"Yeah, because you got lucky that time. How did you even get into the country?"

"Through Turkey, like other reporters. I stayed close to the boarder most of the time."

He looked up and rubbed his forehead before focusing back at her. "Is getting a story the only thing you care about?"

"A government was killing its own people. The rest of the world can't just be ignorant when atrocities are happening. Someone has to find out what's going on."

"Fine, let someone else do it. Do you really need the adrenaline rush so bad you have to put the people who love you through hell for days at a time?"

She faltered for a second. "What people?"

He took a beat longer than needed. "How about Lorelai for one?" he asked. "And Emily. I don't know how they ever sleep at night."

"This is what I wanted to do my whole life," she said, pointing to the articles. "They always knew that."

"Oh, so they're used to the idea you might never come home," he said sarcastically, spreading his arms out. "Hey, let's go ask Emily what day she woke up and was _used to_ Richard being gone. Maybe she marked the day down. She had to know he wasn't going to live forever, so she must have been ready."

"What is wrong with you?" Rory asked, hands digging into her hips.

"I'm just thinking about the people who wait for you to come home—something you apparently don't do."

She reached for the articles, "Give me those. I'll take them back."

At her touch, he moved his hand away quickly. "I'm going there tonight." He snatched his suit jacket up from the futon.

"Grandma doesn't know you took them."

"You don't need to cover for me," he said. "I told you I can handle her."

She scoffed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"I needed a sure thing for a stupid function. Get over it," he said, staring her down. "I have to go."

"I'll let myself out." She glared right back.

He started for the door and she took a few seconds to calm down before tossing the paint samples on the bed. She took a deep breath and headed out of the room, and then house.


	10. X

**Story: **Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N:** Thanks for taking the time to read and review. If you'd like to listen to a song that fits this chapter, check out Florence + the Machine's Drumming Song. Let's party.

**X**

Rory and Lorelai, along with Luke, were in their usual location on Friday evening, but it was not for dinner. The fake birthday party was in its early stages, and some guests already were mingling about the Gilmore mansion. While the event was a supposed effort of Francine's to get to know her estranged granddaughter, she kept her distance. Emily, not having to worry about party logistics, was free to criticize. She kept a discriminating eye on the wait staff as they made the rounds.

"There's never going to be enough horde oeuvres if she doesn't stagger better," she said, as she approached the three from their place in the foyer, where they could see everyone who came in.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Lorelai said.

"Do you want something to drink?" Luke asked her. "I think I'm going to go to the bar."

After Lorelai told him she wanted a martini, Emily added, "I don't think Francine had the bartenders stock beer."

Luke nodded curtly. "That's okay," he said before excusing himself.

Rory asked, "Is Dad here yet?"

"No, but I imagine he'll be here soon," Emily answered. Pointedly, she said, "How nice. He finally makes it to one of your birthday parties and it isn't even your birthday."

"Grandma," Rory said with a cringe. "We'll get through the night and move on. It's just a party. It's no big deal."

Emily averted her gaze to the other guests, clearly put out. The doorbell rang and more guests filed into the house. Rory anxiously watched the well-dressed men and women walk in. She recognized a few here and there as members of the DAR. They greeted Rory before moving into the other rooms of the first floor.

Rory felt her cell phone vibrate from her pocket and pulled it out to check the screen. She'd been communicating with an editor all day about a developing story. She distractedly typed a response and shoved the phone back in her pocket. She gave her grandmother an apologetic look.

"Where do you even find dresses with pockets?" Emily asked.

"Different places. I like them," Rory said defensively. "I can keep my phone close without carrying a purse."

Emily frowned at the positive spin. "I wish you'd wear one of my diamond necklaces."

"I'm her best friend," Lorelai said. "So she doesn't need diamonds."

The bell chimed again, and Rory's heart thumped with anticipation when Cecilia Dugray entered with Janlen. Both smiled and said hello to the Gilmore women before proceeding into the living room. Rory watched Cecilia approach a very pretty blond woman sitting on one of the couches. She looked young, possibly recently out of college, and had on an elegant teal gown that showed off her slender legs. Cecilia inclined her head to listen to whatever the woman was saying. They clearly knew each other.

Rory commented to her grandmother, "I don't know very many people. Are these your guests?"

"Many of them are," Emily said, looking around at the growing crowd. "I was sure to invite more girls this time, since I sometimes invite a disproportionate number of young men to other parties I've thrown."

Lorelai elbowed Rory and quietly said, "She's good."

"Why?" Rory asked.

"The party's already about you, so she doesn't have to lie about the premise," Lorelai whispered. "And she's covering her bases, there're plenty of choices for you _and_ Tristan. You probably won't even run into each other in this jungle of eligible mates."

Rory's brows knit slightly. She glanced into the living room again to watch to two blond women happily chat. "Uh, Grandma," she started. She nodded into the living room. "Who is that talking to Cecilia Dugray?"  
>Emily peeked in and turned back to Rory. "That's Quinn. She's on the Historical Society and the DAR with me."<p>

"Oh."

"Tristan finally came to dinner this week," Emily said—unnecessarily. Eagerly, she continued, "They were quite agreeable. Tristan even took her to a charity event the next evening. I knew they were a good match."

Rory chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyes darted into the living room. The doorbell announced more guests and her anxiety level fluctuated again. It was only more unfamiliar faces.

Someone from the wait staff approached Emily to ask about something in the kitchen, to which she impatiently tried to explain. Not trusting things to be done right, she went off to supervise, muttering, "Really, this should be Francine's responsibility."

"I hope there's a rose ceremony at the end of the night," Lorelai cheerfully said to Rory. "You can give a flower to all the guys you want to see again. Did you bring your bathing suit?"

"Why?"

"For when you take turns making out with all the guys in the hot tub. How else will you know who should get a rose?"

Rory shook her head. Her grandmother probably didn't have any roses hidden away. But at this point, it was more of a hope than a sure thing. "Keep an eye on Grandma," she told Lorelai.

"Why do I have to be the baby-sitter?"

"She's _your_ mother."

"And it's your party."

"Exactly. I have to mingle with the guests."

"Yeah, well, tell me when the one you're waiting for gets here, so I know when you're too occupied to help with the loose cannon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emily walked out of the kitchen through the dining room, smiling at party goers as she went. She saw Francine near the patio doors, talking with some old family friends of the Hayden's. She was keeping a timid eye on the other guests. She didn't have nearly the amount of experience in hosting parties as Emily had.

She found her granddaughter right where she left her, near the entrance of the house. How she expected to meet anyone new while hovering by the door, Emily didn't know. She went over and took Rory by the arm. She dragged her feet as they moved away from the foyer. "Come with me," Emily said. "There's someone I want you to meet. You remember Hanlen Charleston, don't you?"

Rory frowned at Emily. "Headmaster Charleston?"

"Yes, he and Biddy have a grandson who's a CEO at a Fortune 500 company."

"Oh, good for him."

"Yes, he lives here in Hartford, not too far from his parents," Emily explained as they walked through the living room.

She found the man she was looking for and touched him on the arm to get his attention. She made the introduction, including Rory's status as valedictorian at Chilton, before turning to see who else would like to meet her granddaughter. She wanted Rory to stop glancing toward Cecilia Dugray, who was still talking with Quinn.

The scene was similar to the one that transpired at the children's hospital fundraiser earlier that week. Emily wished Tristan would have talked with Quinn as much as his mother had. He was just there occupying space. He'd shown up Monday night and sulked nearly half the dinner—barely moving any conversation forward, only making polite responses when he had to.

It wasn't until Quinn mentioned the symphony that Tristan deemed the conversation worthy of his participation. She was very interested when he told her about his mother's active board membership for the symphony.

Speak of the devil, Emily thought, spotting Tristan. Arriving casually late, he walked by the front staircase. Emily quickly looked in the living room at Rory, who was still with the Charleston man. Even better, another man had joined them—a stock broker who lived in a nice suburb of New York City. Satisfied Rory was busy, Emily advanced on the blond man.

"Tristan, how nice to see you again," she said, smile in place.

He affixed his as well. "The pleasure's mine, Emily."

She took his arm and led him through the house. If he thought he was discreet as he glanced around the rooms, he was wrong. "Your mother and grandfather arrived earlier," she told him. "Your father couldn't make it?"

"No, he's out of town," Tristan said. "Otherwise he'd be here. He didn't get good at the business of law by missing parties."

"I've never liked shop talk at parties," Emily said, weaving through the crowd, as though she knew or cared where she was leading him. As long as it was away from the living room, it didn't matter. "A party is for celebrating, not for business."

"Then we have something in common," he said, to her surprise. "Where is my mom?"

"In the living room," Emily answered. "She's quite engrossed talking with Quinn. I think we should let them chat, they seem to be having a nice time."

Tristan stopped scanning the room. "Sounds like an excellent idea." She eyed him with distaste. He still hadn't shaved. Weren't there rules for men like him? Surely he wasn't allowed to look like that when he was working in the military.

Emily stopped when they reached a few young women conversing in a back room of the house—they were all very pretty, with long hair and designer dresses. As Emily introduced Tristan, and they gave him approving once overs. They were all obliging to let him join their group. Thank goodness she had the forethought to invite more women—just in case things didn't work out with Quinn. Emily wasn't giving up on that just yet, though.

She turned back to look for her daughter. She found her at the bar, where Luke had slunk off to earlier.

"If we're only judging the drinks," he told Lorelai, "this is already better than her twenty-first birthday party. Remember 'the Rory'? That was awful."

Emily glared at him as she approached.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm opening an office in New York City later this year," the man talking to Rory said. He had a perfectly tailored suit and a silver tie. His eyes were as black as his hair. He was good looking in a tall, dark, and handsome sort of way. She couldn't remember his name, it blurred with the other three men she'd met that evening. It was Brian, or Ryan, or something.

"Wow, New York City," she said, trying to sound impressed. "That's exciting."

"I'd really like to expand all over the eastern seaboard," the man explained.

Rory nodded and smiled as she tried to remember what he said what he did for a living. It was definitely something in business or finance, but she couldn't recall the specifics. And he occasionally referred to his glory days in Boston. Rory almost mocked him for it, but caught herself.

Someone walking into the room caught her attention. Her body had the customary—instant and uncontrollable—response. She quickly shifted her focus back to the man in front of her, but continued to watch Tristan out the corner of her eye.

He headed over to his mother, who hadn't moved since arriving. Before Rory could feel the stab of discontent at his beeline to the young woman he'd recently met, he sat in one of the chairs next to the couch, nodding slightly at the two women, and started looking around the room. His eyes roamed methodically from one group of people to the next, quickly scrutinizing the faces before moving on.

As his hunt advanced toward her, Rory could only manage short, shallow breaths. When he reached the group where she was standing, she turned her full attention—or face—toward the man in front of her. She was practically vibrating, aware Tristan had found her.

Against her better judgment, she chanced another glance at him. His chin was resting on his hand as he slowly scanned her body, bottom to top. She felt naked. Her heart worked overtime as she deliberated whether or not to look away before he got to her face. Too late. Their eyes met and blush warmed her skin all over.

His facial expression remained unmoved as they held their gazes for a moment. She saw his Adam's apple move up and down before he blinked and casually turned to his mother, dropping his hand to the arm of the chair. Light headed, Rory excused herself and left the room. She took a cleansing breath, thankful for the lower temperature due to fewer guests in the foyer. She wiggled her fingers, cooling her clammy palms.

She looked around and found her father talking with a few men she'd never seen in her life. She went over and smiled when he turned to greet her.

"Rory, hi," he said with a hug. He pulled her to the side to discreetly say, "Hey, sorry."

"About what?"

"All this," he said, gesturing toward all the people. "And for Mom getting your birthday wrong."

Rory cringed. "You know it's a birthday party?"

"It came up," he said. "She seemed really determined to make up for that awful set up though. I'll break the news to her later. Maybe after the memory fades."

"I'm sorry, Grandma was hell bent on not telling her," Rory said. "But nothing earthshattering has happened so far. It's just a party. What could go wrong?"

Wearily, Christopher said, "You never know."

"It's fine, really," she said again. "Did Gigi come with you?"

"Yeah, she's around somewhere. She's excited to see you."

"I'll be sure to talk to her," Rory said. "Have you seen Mom?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, looking around. "She was at the bar last I saw." He pointed when he found her. "There she is—talking to that guy actually."

"What guy?" Rory asked, turning where her father indicated. Tristan was with Lorelai and Luke. He'd just handed over a small present to Lorelai.

Christopher musingly said, "Is Mom still hoping something will happen with you two? His being here kind of deflects from the party's purpose, when you think about it."

Rory turned back to him. "Don't worry about it. It's not a problem."

"Are you sure?" Christopher asked, focusing back on her. "I could take care of him."

She turned back to give him an amused look. "As interesting as that would be to see, he isn't bothering anyone. And I barely even noticed he was here."

She stood up a little straighter and made her way over to the bar in time to see Lorelai open her gift. Rory stopped, less than a foot away from Tristan, where she got a view of her mother.

"A U2 CD," Lorelai said with a smile. "Thanks Tristan, I love them."

Rory spoke up, "You already have that album."

At the sound of her voice, Tristan tensed. He took a drink of whatever was in his tumbler. If they'd been playing poker, Rory would know every time he had a good hand. She added, "And it's not in plastic. Is it a used gift?"

Without so much as a sidelong glance at her, Tristan told Lorelai, "Open it."

Lorelai did so and two strips of paper almost escape before she caught them. "Oh my God, it's concert tickets." She held them to her chest and looked at Tristan. "I'm going to breathe the same air as Bono."

Tristan said, "I heard you have a thing for him."

"It's going to be so much easier to stalk him when we're in the same room." She read the tickets and frowned. "This concert is in the motherland."

"Yeah, that was the inconvenient part. Luckily, I have a plane. You can borrow it."

Lorelai looked at her daughter brightly. "I get to use the jet."

"That's for business," Rory argued.

"It's my plane. I can do whatever I with it," Tristan said.

"Yeah," Lorelai said quickly. "He can do whatever he wants with it. Thank you, Tristan." She gave him a hug, which caught him by surprise.

"Happy birthday," he told her before walking away.

Lorelai watched him go and smiled back at Rory. In a German accent, she dreamily said, "What a nice guy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A short time later, Tristan was with a group of people near the study. His mother was still in the living room, gossiping with that girl he'd met a few days prior. They were well on their way to becoming bosom buddies. It made sense, Quinn was a younger version of Cecilia, she just happened to have a few interests outside the arts. Cecilia could probably beat that out of her though, if she put her mind to it.

Emily would probably look down on his talking with the male guests. They were here for Rory, and it didn't take a genius to know. There were several young women he was probably supposed to be tempted by. An older woman introduced herself to him earlier, telling him all about her niece. The woman would 'simply love' for him and the niece to meet. Tristan wondered if Emily had put the woman up to it. With all the young blue bloods around this place, it was a regular meat market.

He scanned the other party goers. Men in power suits filled the house. Important men. Business men. They were huddled together, boasting about how wonderful their lives were, talking of their success. It reminded Tristan of his own childhood birthday parties. They blurred together for the most part, but one did stand out as being more of a letdown than the others.

It was his ninth birthday, and all of his school friends were there. More than that actually, it was his whole class. He'd made a game of staying away from Paris—she'd been trying to talk to him as always, but all she ever talked about was school. What third grader wanted to talk about math and science in their spare time? Tristan didn't.

He was busy running around the house with his friends, when his mother caught him. "That's enough horseplay," she'd told him. "You're father just got here."

"Dad made it back?" he'd asked, his spirits lifting.

"Yes, he just got in, he's in the den."

Tristan ran off, but not to the den. Instead he went up to his bedroom to get a paper from school. It was the first big assignment for the year, and it was for geography. It was one of his best subjects, probably because of all the time he spent looking at maps. He'd chosen Indonesia for his paper, and his dad was going to love it—it was one of the places he spent a lot of time. His report had a drawing of the archipelago and he hadn't even traced it from a book.

He grabbed the paper from his desk and ran back downstairs to the den. He found his dad talking with some men. Tristan didn't know who they were, but he also didn't care. He almost yanked on his dad's arm, but stopped himself. Mason wouldn't like it. So Tristan just waited. Whatever the men were talking about must have been important, because they didn't seem to notice the little boy standing nearby.

After a few minutes, he said, "Dad."

Mason finally looked down at his son. "What is it, Tristan?"  
>"Look, I got an A on a report," Tristan told him quickly. He held it up for his father to see. "It's about Indonesia."<p>

The dark haired man glanced from the paper back to Tristan. He nodded curtly. "Good." And then he went back to his conversation.

Tristan's shoulders dropped and his brows furrowed. That was it? He didn't understand. He'd spent so much time on it. He was sure his dad was going to be proud of his hard work. He was going to smile and pat him on the back—maybe even tell everyone else how smart his son was. Tristan wasn't going to cry about it though. He wasn't a baby. Or a girl.

"It's time to open your presents," his mother had told him, seeking him out.

Tristan glanced once more up at his father, fully engrossed in discussion again, before letting his mother lead him out of the room. The paper slid from his hand onto the floor.

He eventually figured out it wasn't geography his father cared about. It was business. Mason might listen to anyone who wanted to talk shop, but he depended on Tristan to get him what he wanted. He was the one at Straub Hayden's firm.

"So I'd really like to move forward with this ASAP," the man in front of Tristan said, pronouncing the acronym as one word. "Could I have your card?"

"Sorry, I'm fresh out," Tristan answered without checking his pockets.

"Here's mine then," the man said. "Just call my office Monday morning and we can set up a meeting."

"Sure," Tristan said.

He sighed and glanced around. He should sneak into the study to slip Rory's articles back in the box without anyone noticing. But Emily led her granddaughter over just then. He shifted enough to be hidden from view so she wouldn't march Rory off somewhere else.

He examined the men Emily had left Rory with. They were all like him—well off, well educated, and well connected. When his gaze reached Rory, she was frowning at him, arms crossed as she watched him size up the competition. One of the yahoos said something to her, so she had to go back to listening. But she was going to have to work on her phony smile if she wanted it to be convincing.

Tristan spent ten more minutes with his group before stepping away to approach the one Rory was a part of. They'd gained and lost a couple members, so her back was to him. Her silky brown hair was swept in an up-do, leaving her neck bare.

He silently sidled up behind her and inclined his head to whisper in her ear, "How old is that guy?" He nodded in the direction of the man who was speaking to the whole group. Tristan was standing close enough to catch a hint of lavender, though it was never what he expected her to smell like.

Her head jolted an inch toward his, though she only looked at him out the corner of her eye. She took a sip of her wine and answered quietly, "Just a little older than us."

"We're not forty-five."

She turned enough to narrow her eyes. "He isn't forty-five. Late thirties, maybe."

"I hope I age better."

She shifted her feet to face him a little more. "Yeah, you don't want to look too old next to that blond. People would talk. I wonder if she gets to sit at the grown ups' table." Her group closed the gap she left, leaving her with just Tristan. "Your Aryan children will be beautiful though."

"Your imagination is better than mine," he said. "But that's okay, those kids sound a little creepy."

They heard a raised voice coming from the living room, and both recognized who it belonged to. Rory lifted her head and frowned. "Uh-oh." She quickly walked away, leaving Tristan to follow.

When she met her mother, she said, "You were supposed to be watching her."

"She got away from me," Lorelai said.

"That's because she wasn't going to hide at the bar all night like you."

Christopher also joined them, and the three of them went in to do what they could to alleviate the situation. Emily was glaring daggers at Francine. The two were finally facing off, rather than pretending everyone was friends. Tristan stayed near the edge of the room. His mother was no longer sitting on the couch. She'd probably regret that when she found out she was missing the spectacle. The guests who were in other parts of the house started to gather to find out what the commotion was about.

There was a table with a large cake a few feet from Tristan. It must have had every combination of cake and icing flavor. The two younger Gilmore girls surely appreciated it, what with their terrible eating habits. A young girl he recognized from the pictures on Francine's mantle was helping herself to a piece.

"It's not even her birthday," Emily said, deep frown lines at her forehead. "How can you call yourself her grandmother without even knowing when she was born?"

Francine froze, face falling slightly. She glanced at Christopher, who shot her an apologetic look. Mustering up a bit of confidence, she said, "I can still throw a party in her honor."

"Yeah Mom," Lorelai said. "Everyone likes a party."

"You and Straub were never there for Rory, in her whole life," Emily said, not caring about dates of birth anymore. She had bigger fish to fry. "Richard and I were the ones to help get her through school. We never turned our backs on her." She plowed on, "You had no right to involve her in your problems. You have your own granddaughter you can pawn off."

Tristan glanced over to the young girl at the cake table. "Hey, how old are you?"

She looked up at him to answer, "Twelve."

He looked back to the older women and said, "I'm not okay with that." No one heard.

"How dare you use Rory like that? She's a Gilmore."

"She's a Hayden too," Francine said. "Blood is thicker than water. I wouldn't have had to introduce her to Tristan if he hadn't taken Christopher's place in Straub's office."

Francine continued, "If Lorelai hadn't—"

"Mom," Christopher interrupted.

"If Lorelai hadn't what?" Emily asked. "They were sixteen, are you honestly still deluded enough to think it was all her fault? After all these years, you've taken up Straub's battle?"

Dismally, Rory shook her head at the blame shift. She turned and headed up the stairs near the drink cart.

Tristan continued to watch the scene.

"Do you really think you'd get away with setting Rory up like that? Just because of an office?" Emily demanded. "If you'd taken the time to get to know her, you'd have known you're dealing with the last person she ever wanted to see again."

Lorelai cringed. "Mom."

The truth was the truth, Tristan thought. But now was a good a time as any to find out if that was still the case. He turned and walked away, giving the cake a sidelong glance as he went. A plain white piece with chocolate icing sounded good to him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. The lamp on the table next to the bed provided a soft light. Her phone buzzed and she checked the message, and then returned it to her pocket. For being a hesitant participant in this party, some sort of gravitational pull made her uneasy at the idea of leaving.

She remembered her first party in this house—and her escape. This made for a familiar scene. So when she heard her mother knock on the door, she said, "Come in." Upon seeing she was wrong, she said, "I thought you were someone else."

"Lorelai is busy at the moment," Tristan said, closing the door softly behind him. He loosened his tie and tossed his jacket on the arm chair in the corner. He crossed the room to open the window. "It's stifling in here." He stood up straight and looked over at Rory.

She fought the urge to sit up and wrap her arms around her legs protectively. She felt exposed, but she didn't move.

Tristan went back to the chair and had a seat. Seeing her bare feet, he made himself at home by kicking off his own shoes and propping his feet up on the ottoman. "Obi Wan and Darth Vader are battling for your soul down there."

"More like arguing about things that can't be changed." Having not understood something her mother said, Rory asked, "What does 'no room to swing a cat' mean?"

"Someone on the ship's getting beat and everyone else is there to watch," Tristan said. "So there isn't room to swing the whip with the crowd all around."

"Oh," she said. A crowd _had_ gathered downstairs. "At least Grandma defended Mom. That's something."

"There you go, silver lining," he said. "I wouldn't want to miss someone arguing like that over me." He added, "I went looking for popcorn."

"Upstairs?" she asked, brow arched.

He looked dead at her. It'd have made her weak in the knees if she wasn't already lying down. "I got lost."

Rory lifted her eyes to the ceiling again, but she could still see Tristan looking around. "This is my room," she told him. "And it really is stifling to stay in it for an extended period of time."

"The pool house was probably more spacious."

"Mm-hmm," she agreed. "It was just like being independent." She scoffed and shook her head. "Grandma moved me in here to stop the boy girl sleepovers I was having."

Tristan snorted. "Well, judging by the skirmish downstairs, she probably felt justified."

"I guess." Then she added, "I had to sneak out the way Mom used to. But I lied about where I was going. She climbed down the balcony trellis. "

"She's a crafty one, that Lorelai."

Silence fell between them. A breeze rustled the long curtains and danced across Rory's bare arms. She sighed. "You know, this isn't the first party like this."

"I know, I was there. You're good at the disappearing act."

She shook her head. "No, I mean a mating ritual. Grandpa and Grandma did it before, when I was in college. I was seeing someone they never really liked."

"Your kissing cousin?"

"No," she deadpanned. "They said it was a Yale alumni party. All their friends had sons, but suspiciously, no daughters." She frowned and looked over at Tristan. "I wonder if your grandfather was invited."

He shook his head. "Doubtful. It wasn't really about the alumni and I never joined the club."

She relaxed back on the pillow. "True." She smiled a little. "Hey, did you ever run into Paris at Harvard? She was in medical school the same time you were there."

"Oh sure, at the annual med school-law school mixer," he said dryly.

"So no."

"No," he said. "It's a big school. Apparently there was enough room on campus for both of us."

"Too bad Yale campus housing didn't have that philosophy."

Tristan smiled.

Neither said anything for a couple more minutes. Another breeze swept the curtains up before they fell back to the window.

"So did it work?" he asked.

"Did what work?"

"The other party. Did you trade what you had for what they thought was better?"

She thought back to what happened after the party. During, even. It _had_ worked, hadn't it? Richard and Emily wanted her with someone who met their narrow standards, rather than accept whoever made her happy. She looked down at her clasped hands, and in a small voice answered, "Yes."

Tristan nodded once.

Her stomach turned slightly, knowing she'd played right into their hands. The party wasn't responsible for everything, but it got the ball rolling in the direction they wanted. She didn't even put up a fight. She called her mother and let her do it. A decade later, Emily was up to her old tricks. She was even pulling double duty tonight, inviting all those girls for Tristan. She must be exhausted.

Rory was older and wiser now. She was mindful of her grandmother's 'good intentions'. Emily would not be making decisions Rory was able to make on her own.

Tristan's sudden movement distracted her from her thoughts. He was digging in his jacket pocket. He produced an envelope and stood. Though she'd willed herself to remain calm in his presence, she was having less success as he closed the distance between them. She swung her feet over the bed so she could sit up. He handed over the light purple envelope and sat down next to her.

"It's not my birthday," she said, turning it in her hands, seeing her name written on one side.

"I know. But it's bad form to show up to a party without a gift, even if it's fake."

She glanced at him and he gestured for her to open it. She tore the seal and pulled out the card. She opened it and small paper rectangle fell onto her lap. She picked it up and read the information. "Your business card?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's half present, half apology. I'm, uh, sorry for the other day. I overreacted." He continued, "You are the only one who can keep yourself . . . safe—when you're out—reporting the news. But if you ever find yourself in a Turkish prison, I'll do what I can to get you out." He rambled some more, "Just try not to get kidnapped by Somali pirates. They play by their own rules."

Rory smiled little. "Okay."

"And if you wander into North Korea, I'll have to ask the Clinton's for help, and I don't have their number."

She sat the card on the lamp table and looked back to him. "Thank you. I'll put your card next to Christiane Amanpour's."

"A place in your wallet, highest honors," Tristan said. "Hopefully you'll use mine as often as you've used hers."

They smiled softly at each other. It was another moment where words failed her. And his proximity was unnerving. She'd been overly aware of him when they were in the same room earlier, but now she was struggling to keep her bearings.

"We should get back," he said without moving. "You're supposed to find someone better."

She glanced from his lips to his eyes. "Not better, just not you."

He tilted his head. "Isn't it the same?"

"No."

He continued to watch her, and glanced at her loose bangs. He started to reach for them, but she beat him to it. He caught her hand and stroked his thumb across her open palm. She looked from their hands back to his face and reached out to touch his cheek. "What's going on here? Have you just gotten lazy?"

He shook his head slightly, hoarsely saying, "Other things on my mind." He pressed her wrist to his lips and kissed the sensitive skin at her pulse—which was erratic at best. She closed her eyes for a moment, and she was openly trembling now.

Tristan grasped her outstretched arm and leaned in. She closed her eyes as their lips met at last. Her hand slid down his neck and continued to his chest, pulling away his tie in the process. They broke contact in a very brief attempt to catch their breath. Tristan pressed his mouth back to hers, and she pushed herself against him, kissing him with more pressure and parting her lips.

His hands circled her rib cage and he leaned further into her, so she reclined back on the bed, taking him with her. At a light touch to her thighs, Rory separated her legs for him to settle between. He kissed her neck, his rough face leaving a hot trail in its wake.

She vaguely wondered if the door was locked, and squirmed a little under him. He drew in a breath and retaliated by shifting his hips against hers. Her head fell back on the pillow, not caring about the door—or the party. She lifted his face up to meet hers, so she could kiss him, biting his bottom lip as her hands slid down his front, not stopping until they reached his belt buckle.


	11. XI

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**XI**

Through narrowed eyes, Emily watched Christopher console his mother as she licked her wounds in the living room. She was the last person in the house who had a right to be upset, Emily thought. Francine was the one who was out of line, putting on this masquerade. It was high time someone put her in her place.

"Feel better now?" Lorelai asked, pulling Emily to the bar. "Or did you want to strangle her?"  
>"I wish you would take this seriously. Francine tried to—"<p>

"I know, I know. She tried to use Rory," Lorelai said.

"You would throw a fit if I ever pulled something like that."

"So true." She paused for a moment and said, "And if you _did_, I guess you'd have to set Rory up with Jason Stiles. We've always shared shoes and clothes. It was only a matter of time before we got around to men."

"Be more disturbing," Luke said dryly, from his place next to her.

"That is not funny," Emily said. "I wouldn't use Rory like that."

"Of course you wouldn't," Lorelai said. "You know how I like to make jokes." She went on to add, "Even when Francine invited them to dinner she had to know it probably wasn't going to work."

Emily looked at Lorelai sharply. "Probably?"

"Definitely," Lorelai said quickly. "And even if they didn't already know each other, it probably still wouldn't have worked."

"_Probably_?"

"Definitely."

Emily shook her head as she looked around the house. She frowned. "Where is Rory?"

Lorelai scanned the area and shrugged. "I don't know. I was preoccupied. If I was supposed to be baby-sitting both of you, I want a raise. My fees increase significantly when I have more than one charge."

Emily tried to walk away, but Lorelai grabbed her arm. "Oh no, you're staying right here with me. Drink this," she said, passing Emily a tumbler.

"I just want to find Rory."

"I'm sure she's fine, wherever she is." Lorelai looked toward the foyer. "There she is now."

Rory looked around at the guests—the ones who remained after the confrontation—and headed for the bar when she saw Emily and Lorelai.

"Where were you?" Lorelai asked.

"Uh, nowhere. Just upstairs," Rory answered, her eyes darting toward the living room. She held an open envelope at her side. "It looked like you had everything under control down here."

Lorelai scoffed.

Emily frowned at her, noting her reddish face and neck. "What kind of fabric is your dress made of?"

Rory glanced down at her outfit. "I'm not sure, some sort of blend I think. Why?"  
>"You might be allergic to whatever it is. It looks like you're getting a rash. Or maybe it's your laundry detergent. Lorelai, you should try something else, and not a knock-off brand."<p>

"Our detergent is fine."

Rory put a hand to her collarbone, not being able to see it. She felt along her jawline, as though she knew exactly where her skin was pink. Absentmindedly, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She touched the screen, but nothing happened. "Oh yeah," she muttered, turning it on.

"Your phone was off," Lorelai stated.

"I know. That's why I'm turning it back on."

"You never turn your phone off." Lorelai turned to Luke. "Have you ever seen her phone off?"

He shook his head no.

"Well, it got turned off," Rory said. She checked the messages before putting it back in her pocket. She glanced around the party, biting her lip.

Emily felt a twinge of annoyance at her continued gawking. She looked like a giraffe, trying to reach that top leaf on the tree.

An older gentleman with white hair and glasses approached them. Perhaps he was the one who should really shoulder the blame in all this. He was the one retiring from the firm. He was the one who didn't have a son to pass it on to. Francine wouldn't have taken things into her own hands if it wasn't for Straub's brother.

He squinted at the young brunette in concentration. "Are you Rory?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm your father's uncle."

"Oh, Abram, I've heard about you. Hi," she said, extending a hand for him to shake.

"Hello," he said. "I've heard a lot about you too."

"Really?" she asked. "From Francine?"

Emily impatiently cast her eyes upward. She almost scoffed.

"No, the Dugray boy at the office."

She narrowed her eyes at the old man.

But Rory perked up a little. "Tristan?" She smiled a little. Emily half expected her to twirl her hair around her finger like a schoolgirl.

"He told me it isn't really your birthday." Abram produced a wrapped package from a pocket inside his suit jacket. "But I still wanted to get you something, so he said I should get you a book."

"Thank you," Rory said, tearing away the paper. "It's small enough to fit in a pocket, my favorite kind." She slipped the purple envelope into the book.

"Yes, everyone knows she likes to read," Emily said. She took the book from Rory. "I'll put this with your other cards. Why don't we see who's in the den," she said, taking Rory by the arm and steering her away.

Rory twisted around to speak to Christopher's uncle as they went. "Thanks for the book." She turned to glare at Emily. "Grandma, that was rude. He was nice."

"Well it's rude to hide from your guests. You should be circulating."  
>"Everyone knows it isn't my birthday," Rory said. "And I don't feel like talking to any of these people."<p>

Emily frowned. "What's wrong with them?"

"Well—nothing, I just—I'm not interested in any of them." Quickly, Rory added, "They're perfectly nice. But I'm not going to see any of them after tonight."

Emily was silent at first. "Maybe you're not giving anyone a chance. You really can't get to know someone in just a few minutes. It takes longer to make a connection. I'm sure you'd like at least one person here if you took the time to get to know them." She steered Rory into one of the rooms and studied the people.

"Well, actually—"

Emily interrupted to introduce Rory to a couple men before leaving them to talk. She left the room, scanning the other guests. The men were starting to mix with the women. Emily hadn't thought of that when she made her guest list. The house might as well be a session of speed dating. Why would they be interested in anyone other than Rory? She had so many wonderful attributes, certainly more than any of the young ladies here. And as always, she looked stunning in her little black dress.

When Emily returned to the front of the house, Lorelai was standing guard near the living room entrance, arms crossed.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked her.

"Keeping an eye on the situation," Lorelai said sternly. "I don't want you sneaking back in there to finish her off."

Emily glanced in. Tristan was speaking with Christopher, who was still next to his mother. She said, "It's no surprise he'd chose _their_ side."

"There are no sides." Lorelai said. "And with all your Gilmore versus Hayden and by extension, Dugray, it's like the Capulet's and the Montague's around here."

"It is not," Emily said quickly.

"I'm not saying we need to put Tristan and Rory on a suicide watch or anything."

Emily looked back at the group of three. "Tristan was wearing a tie earlier," she said musingly. "It was burgundy. What happened to it?"

"I wasn't keeping track," Lorelai said. She knit her brows and tilted her head for a moment, focusing on the blond man, and then she looked down the hall where Emily had just returned. She lifted her head suddenly and gasped. She muttered, "The torch has been passed."

"What?"

Lorelai shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind," she said, steering Emily away from the living room for a second time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory listened to the man in front of her talk about his getaway house in the Hamptons, when he paused, giving her a chance to speak up, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid you're here under false pretenses. My grandmother really wants me to meet someone tonight."

"Yeah, that's what she said, because you travel so much, you don't have time," the man told Rory.

"She did?"

"Yeah, it was the first time we met."

Rory frowned. "First time?"

He nodded. "Earlier."

She stared at him for a moment. She'd met this one already. It was Tall, Dark, and Handsome—Brian Ryan, or something. Where were her journalistic instincts tonight? She didn't forget faces. "Oh that's right, I remember." Slightly embarrassed, but not deterred, she went on, "I actually don't need my grandmother's help to find a romantic partner."

"I see," he said, looking around at the other guests. He gestured over to a brunette woman. "Do you know her?"

Rory looked where he indicated. "No, but we can go find out." They both went over and she led the introduction. When they continued their conversation, Rory excused herself and walked back to the front of the house. Before she got very far though, her grandmother's young blond friend approached her.

"Rory, hi," she said. "I wanted to introduce myself."

"Hello," Rory said. "You're Quinn, right?"

"Yes, I'm on a couple committees with Emily. I've heard so much about you."

"Grandma likes to brag," Rory said.

"And not just her. The other ladies in the DAR love to hear about you."

Rory smiled in an 'ah shucks' sort of way.

"Anyway," Quinn continued, "Emily is so nice, I was glad to come over for dinner this week to meet Tristan."

Slowly, Rory asked, "So you like him then?"

"Oh of course," Quinn said with an annoyingly cheerful smile. "He's practically perfect."

"I don't know about that," Rory said on reflex.

"His job sounds so exciting—getting to see the world."

"He probably sees the inside of board rooms and hotels more than the sights," Rory said. "Traveling for work isn't as glamorous as it sounds." She frowned slightly, unsure if he liked it at all, with his apparent 'home by six' rule. His previous job might have suited his disposition better.

"Anyway, Emily is arranging for us to come to dinner again next week."

Rory's stomach tightened. "You and Tristan?"

"Yes," Quinn said with a nod. "I hope he can make it. His mother wants to have me over for dinner with their family, too."

"She does?" Rory asked, feeling the stab of something unpleasant. She wondered if Quinn had Tristan's phone number. If not, he may not get invited, considering Cecilia's faulty communication with her son. Not that Rory was going to be the one to pass his number along.

"Mm-hmm," Quinn said, smiling nicely. "She's wonderful. Her work with the arts is legendary. She's going to sponsor me for the symphony committee. It's such an honor."

"Oh, well, congratulations," Rory said. "That's really nice of her."

Quinn asked, "You and Tristan went to high school together, didn't you?"

"Yes," Rory answered. "At Chilton. But just for a while. I started during sophomore year. Then his dad pulled him out of school when we were juniors."

That part of the story didn't seem to interest Quinn too much, because she slowly asked, "Did you two ever date? I'm sorry, I'm being nosy."

"It's okay. And no, we definitely didn't date."

"Really?" Quinn asked, looking doubtful.

"Really."

"What was he like back then?"

"Uh," Rory said with a frown. "He was . . ." She stopped. She wasn't sure how to respond. Grasping at the only thing she knew for sure, she said, "He was really popular, especially with the girls."

"Now that I can believe."

"He was smart—is smart—but didn't always use that to his advantage in the classroom," Rory said. "And he was very stubborn. Or, uh, persistent. He kept asking this one girl out even though she always told him no."

"Why wouldn't she go out with him?" Quinn asked. "He's so nice."

"Well he didn't used to be," Rory said defensively. "He just wanted to prove he could date her. He tried to fight m—her—boyfriend once. Who does that?"

"A jealous person?"

Rory continued, on a roll, "He always called her Mary. And," she said, remembering his offenses, "he lied and told people they were going to a—."

She stopped. It was a concert. But he didn't just say they were going. He had tickets. He'd planned on her going with him. What had he done with the tickets when she didn't go?

"To a what?" Quinn asked.

Rory was jerked back to the present. "Um, a concert. He had tickets. Why did he buy tickets?" she said in frustration. "He didn't even know of the band."

"Maybe the girl did," Quinn said.

Rory looked at the young woman. "Maybe so," she agreed. But how did Tristan know? She had no idea.

"It sounds like he had a crush."

It _was_ starting to sound that way, Rory thought.

Just then, Cecilia came over. "Hi Rory, how are you tonight?"

Rory sighed and tried to clear her mind of the cobwebs. "Fine, you?"  
>"Good. It's a lovely party. Are you having a nice birthday?"<p>

Rory blinked. "Um, it's not really my birthday. Remember when you were here for dinner, Tristan said it was in October—and he was right."

Cecilia pointed a finger. "That's right. Well, it's still a lovely party."

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "If you don't count the argument earlier."

"I heard about it," Cecilia said. She turned to Quinn. "Just think, we were sitting there before it all happened." Changing the subject, she asked the young blond woman, "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the ballet with me. They're doing _The Rite of Spring_ next month. I think you'd like it."

Rory felt the twinge again.

"I would love to go," Quinn said with a smile.

"You know, it was quite a controversial piece when Stravinsky wrote it. People were horrified."

"Yes, it was ahead of its time," Quinn agreed, as the two women drifted away while they conversed.

Rory frowned as she watched them go. Quinn would probably never mention cartoon characters about a serious piece of classical music. She was too cultured to say something like that. But then Rory remembered the piano Tristan didn't plan to tune and his fondness for annoying his mother. He probably would have liked her comment. She imagined him smiling at the story and wishing he'd have been there. She made a mental note to tell him about it.

Lorelai swooped in and hooked Rory's arm in hers. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, why?"

"You don't look very happy." Lorelai glimpsed the two women walking away. "It looks like Cecilia found a new friend."

"Yeah." In a slightly flat voice, Rory said, "They're going to the ballet. _The Rite of Spring_ was quite controversial for its time, you know."

"I didn't, actually. You're like Woody when Buzz Lightyear was the new toy in town."

"I am not." Rory looked at her mother in distaste. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you're jealous."

"No I'm not. And I don't like being compared to a toy."

"I wasn't being literal. It was a metaphor," Lorelai said. "You literary types are supposed to like figurative language."

"It was a simile," Rory corrected. "And toys are things. People are not."

"I know. That's why it's figurative. You're jealous because Tristan's mom replaced you. Like when a kid gets a new toy and forgets about the old one. You were last month's it-girl, but now you're not."

"You can't just replace a person," Rory protested.

"Cecilia did."

Rory shook her head. "Whatever. Even if she did, why would I be jealous? I didn't want to go to the opera or the ballet anyway."

"It's always nice to be liked though," Lorelai said. "On the bright side, Tristan hasn't talked to the blond all night." She went on, "Have you noticed how rugged he's looking tonight? In fact, if his face rubbed up against someone else's, then she'd probably come back downstairs with burned skin."

Rory quickly put a hand to her neck.

"Ah-ha, I knew it," Lorelai said.

"You don't know anything."

"I know Tristan was wearing a tie earlier and now it's gone."

Rory tensed. "It is?"

"Mm-hmm, Mom pays attention to details."

"Shoot," Rory muttered, trying to imagine the floor next to her bed.

"When I said you might get to pass out flowers tonight, that isn't what I meant," Lorelai said.

"Will you be quiet?" Rory said, looking around as they strolled into the living room. Her father was with Francine.

"Hey, it's your party. You can do whatever you want," Lorelai said. Then she had to add, "Or whoever."

Rory focused back on her mother. "Shouldn't you be upset? There's a party going on and I went upstairs and . . . had a tryst."

"So you're shortening his name now?" Lorelai asked. She waved a hand flippantly. "I'm really in no place to get upset over an intimate encounter upstairs—especially in this house. In fact," she continued, "you get bonus points since he's the one Emily despises."

Rory grimaced and looked around. "Where is Grandma?"

"She went upstairs. She needed something from her room. Maybe she wanted more comfortable shoes. Or a noose for Francine."

"I wonder if I can sneak up there."

"Again?" Lorelai asked. "Jeez, someone had a good time."

"For his tie," Rory said through gritted teeth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan was outside by himself, sitting in one of the patio chairs. It was a pleasant, cool evening. He was surrounded by the breeze that had blown in the window of Rory's room earlier. He could see inside the house, where Lorelai had just walked into the living room with Rory. She was glancing around distractedly. She was looking for someone. Maybe him.

He did it. She was right where he wanted her. She was even bitter over that stupid set up of Emily's. When he'd ask her out in a couple days, she was going to say yes. And considering it was Rory, she might even prefer to stay in, at his house—by invitation for once. He liked that idea better.

He was going to get what he wanted this time. Things were going to work out.

One of the house doors opened, but not a living room door. It was off in the darkness. Emily loomed in the distance, coming closer. She walked over and stopped when she reached him. She held something out in her hand. "I think this belongs to you," she said, an edge to her tone.

Tristan took what was offered. It was his tie. He hadn't realized he'd forgotten it. "Thanks, I must have lost it."

With a stare, she said, "Yes, in one of the upstairs bedrooms."

He didn't respond. Instead, he pulled newspaper clippings from his pocket and held them out. "These are yours."

She took the articles and knit her brows as she looked down to see what they were. "These are Rory's, where did you get them?"

"The study. I borrowed the whole box the first time I was here," he said.

"You had no business in there. Why would you take that?" Emily asked.

He shrugged lightly. "I hadn't seen her in a while. I wanted to read about where she'd been." Knowing Emily wouldn't be able to dispute, he added, "She's very talented. She's always been smart."

Ignoring this, Emily said, "How dare you take what isn't yours? Stay away from Rory. She can have anyone she wants."

He smirked little. "Oh, I know."

She shot him a withering glare before turning toward the house, but Tristan wasn't finished. "Which part do you hate more?"

"What?" she asked, eyes flashing back to him.

"Which part is worse—that it was Francine's idea, or that I'm not Huntzberger?"

She stared at him again, not responding.

He continued, "I've been having trouble figuring something out, maybe you can help. Do you know why that guy dated other girls when he had Rory? I just don't understand it."  
>"What are you talking about?"<p>

"Huntzberger," Tristan said evenly, keeping his gaze steady. "He liked to date a lot of girls at the same time. Rory was just one of them."

"That isn't true," Emily said. "They were together for two years. He wanted her to go to California with him as his wife."

"Sure," Tristan said. "But in the beginning, why do you think Mr. Wonderful saw Rory _and_ the others?" Tristan knew he wasn't helping himself, but he continued anyway, "I mean, when she started at Chilton, it took me a few months, but I wanted her to be my girlfriend. And I was just some idiot sixteen year old."

A few seconds ticked by, then, "You don't know what you're talking about."

He shrugged. "Okay."

The living room door opened and Quinn stepped out. "Emily, there you are," she said. She peeked around the older woman. "And Tristan too. I was getting ready to leave. I just wanted to make sure we were still on for dinner for this week."

Tristan didn't miss Quinn's glance at him when she said it. Did Emily think he was coming over again? "Actually—"

"Yes. Tristan will be there," Emily interrupted. "He was just telling me how much he's looking forward to it." She turned back to him then. "What night is best for you?"

He was cornered. That was fine, he'd do the same to her. "My schedule's pretty full next week. The only night I could possibly make it is Friday."

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly. Not to be outdone, she said, "Friday sounds perfect."

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Emily turned to Quinn and headed back into the house.

Tristan muttered, "Richard liked me."

He heard the door open a couple minutes later and his grandfather approached. "There you are," Janlen said. "I wondered where you'd disappeared to."

"Just here," Tristan said. He unrolled his tie and started putting it back on.

Janlen furrowed his brows as he sat down at the patio table. "Why did you take that off?"

"I didn't," Tristan answered, fastening the tie as his neck.

"I don't want to know anymore, do I?"

"Nope."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A little while later, Rory was standing near the patio doors. She could see out the windows, but stayed out of view to the two men sitting at the outdoor furniture. Tristan was with his grandfather, so Rory didn't want to interrupt them. She didn't know how long they'd been out there, but she could see Tristan say something every once in a while, and then Janlen would point up to the sky.

When Christopher came over and touched her shoulder, she jumped a little in surprise.

"Sorry," he said. "It's getting kind of late. I'm going to take Mom home."

"Oh, all right," Rory said. "Tell her thanks for the party."

Christopher frowned. "Really? Even with the scene? She might have had it coming."

"No, really, it was a nice party," Rory insisted. Many of the guests had left by this point.

"If you say so," her father said. "Still, I'm sorry for everything." His tone indicated the apology was for more than just the party.

"It's going to be okay," she said. "Tell Gigi bye for me."

Christopher nodded and gave her a hug before turning to go. When Rory turned back, she was met by Janlen walking through the patio doors. "Rory, hi," he said with a smile.

"Hi." She smiled back.

"I hope I wasn't preventing you from going outside, if that's what you wanted to do," he said, nodding at Tristan, who stayed in his patio chair.

"Oh, no. I'm sure you had something important to talk about. I know he likes to talk business with you guys."

"Us guys?"

"You and his dad—uh, your son."

"I was actually just pointing out some constellations to him. He can never find any more than the Big Dipper and Orion's Belt. I always have to remind him of everything else."

"That's hard to believe," Rory said.

"And why is that?"

Rory looked up at him, he was about the same height as Tristan. "He knows all kinds of random facts about opera and the symphony. If you like astronomy, I'm surprised he doesn't know about it, too."

"Ah," Janlen said, with something like approval in his voice. "You've noticed that." He considered her a second, then he said, "It's not necessary for him to educate himself before having a conversation with me. I'll listen to what he's interested in."

"That's good," she said. "I'm sure you do a lot of arguing though—for the fun of it."

"A fair amount, yes."

After a moment of thought, she said, "He should have asked you to go to that baseball game. You seem friendlier than—." Rory stopped, remembering for a second time she was talking about Janlen's son.

"Mason," he finished for her.

"Well, yeah," she said slowly. "Sorry. He just seems a little . . . one track minded."

"That he is."

"And you're easier to talk to."

"That may be true," Janlen said thoughtfully. "But Tristan knows he doesn't have to do the things I like if he wants to spend time with me. He doesn't have to—what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Butter you up?" Rory tried. "Bribe you?"

"Why don't we call it compromise?"

"I guess that sounds better."

"He can come and talk to me any time," Janlen said. "But Mason and Cecilia are still his parents, even with their flaws." He added, "And an easier relationship doesn't make it the preferred one."

Rory glanced out the window at Tristan. It sounded like an awful thing for a person to get accustomed to. And unless she was wrong, his motives for choosing his profession were disconcerting. She crossed her arms and frowned. Thinking out loud, she said, "He's not much of a singer. Maybe he cut his losses and chose what he'd be better at."

"The law?"

"Yes."

He arched a brow. "You're clever."

"I've just been paying attention."

"It's clever to pay attention," Janlen said. "He might not sing well, but he is an excellent tap dancer."

Rory looked up at the man, perplexed.

"In the courtroom."

"Oh." Everyone was allegorical tonight. She laughed softly at the image of Tristan doing an actual tap dance. "Please tell me Cecilia put him in dance class when he was little. That would make my life."

"I will not," Janlen said firmly. "That would be quite embarrassing for him if anyone knew."

She giggled a little more as she pictured a young Tristan in a leotard, not caring if Janlen was joking. He took a white envelope out of his pocket and handed it over.

"You didn't have to give me anything," she said. "You know it's not my birthday."

"Yes, but I couldn't show up at a party without a gift."

"Well, thank you," she said with a smile.

Janlen was about to step away, but stopped. "I know this was all a mess, but . . ." He trailed off as he glanced outside and then back to Rory. "I hope to see more of you."

"Me too," she said without thinking.

After he'd left her, Rory looked out at Tristan again. Maybe the pieces of the puzzle weren't fitting together because she'd been working toward the wrong picture. Her preconceived judgments weren't adding up. Maybe there always had been more to him than what he let the general public see. And perhaps she was inaccurate when she'd said he was more bad than good.

Before Rory could continue this line of thinking or step outside, her cell phone alerted her of a new message. She already checked flights earlier, she didn't have much time. "Shoot," she said, glaring down at her phone before glancing out the window one more time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Outside, Tristan was still sitting at the patio table. He liked the solitude compared to mingling with guests. He knew Rory had been watching him a few minutes earlier. She wasn't out of sight as she stood by the door. He'd seen her check her phone and move further into the house.

The back door opened, and he looked over to see Lorelai walking toward him with a plate in hand. When she got to him, she handed it out to him. "Did you get some?" Hastily, she added, "Cake. Did you get cake?"

"No," he said, taking the plate. "Thanks."

"You found your tie," she said.

"Emily did, actually."

"Oh," Lorelai said. "Awkward."

Tristan wondered how much she knew. "She left, didn't she?"

Lorelai sat in the chair his grandfather had occupied a few minutes ago. "Yeah, she had to go. An editor had a story for her to cover. But she wanted to come out here though. And she asked me to tell you good night."

He nodded once. "Did she have any cake?"

"No."

"That sounds about right."

"I think I get to take the leftovers home. At least, that's my plan." A couple seconds ticked by before she changed the subject. "So, I don't know how much of the fireworks you heard earlier," she said. "You got pulled into the fray a little."

"I did hear that part," he said.

"I just wanted to let you know, it's nothing against you personally. If it hadn't been for that dinner at Francine's, Mom would love you. She would be encouraging, even."

He knew it was true, but Emily was getting tiresome.

"Things should blow over though. They just get bitter about the past sometimes," she said. "Chris and I didn't follow their master plans, so everyone had a conniption fit. And as you heard, they haven't forgotten."

The explanation fit some of Rory's misconceptions about him, Tristan thought. Plans. Everyone had plans arranged by someone else. For some reason, his eyes strayed to the small house not too far away. He heard himself ask, "Why did Rory move into the pool house?"

"What?" Lorelai asked, looking in the same direction he had a moment before.

"Why did Rory live here?"

Lorelai looked confused. "When she left school?"

He nodded. "Didn't you stop talking to her too?"

She crossed her arms and frowned. "It was just—she was supposed to be at school. You knew her when she was younger, she loved school. It's where she belonged."

"Sure," Tristan said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She wasn't following the plan?"

"That was not my plan," Lorelai said defensively. "It was our plan—_her_ plan."

"Got it," he said. But he was still on the end of Lorelai's glare.

"I did not have a conniption fit. And I wish I would have handled things differently," she said. A bit irritated, she commented, "Aren't _we_ all-knowing?"

"Sorry. It's a gift."

"I gathered." She stared at him evenly. It wasn't as hostile as Emily had been, it was almost thoughtful. "But you're right. I guess the apples just won't roll away from the darn trees."

With the look she was giving him, he wasn't completely sure who she was talking about.

Lorelai stood and somewhat stiffly said, "Thanks again for the concert tickets."

"You're welcome." Before she got to the door, he stopped her. "Lorelai."

"What?" she said, turning back.

"Where did she go this time?"

"Tunisia."

He didn't even want to know the details. When Lorelai headed toward the door again, he asked, "Does it get easier . . . the sitting around waiting for her to get back?"

Lorelai paused for a moment. "Not really," she said. "You just kind of get used to it."

He nodded once and didn't stop her again on her way inside. So much for his symbolic gesture, he thought.

He wondered how long she'd be gone this time. A few days? A week? Longer? And how soon would it take before she left again? He was confident she'd say yes if he asked her to dinner, and took pleasure in the fact. But he wasn't at all sure she'd still be in the country when date night rolled around.

Of course, she'd reschedule and apologize. But how many times would it happen before he'd resent her for it? Her phone had buzzed when they were upstairs. He'd dug it out of her pocket and scowled at it as though he was personally offended by it. He'd turned it off before tossing it on the floor so she couldn't reach it.

Tristan gave his head a mental shake and stood up, restless. He glanced down at Emily's flower bed. Some of her bulbs were starting to shoot out of the soil, but a leafy vine nearby was crawling closer.

He was being cynical. Rory's frequent traveling wouldn't be a problem if he didn't let it. So he wouldn't let it, he resolved. He traveled too, after all. And she was who he wanted, so he'd have to make it work. He didn't have a choice. Otherwise he'd be that jerk who couldn't handle her job.

He'd get over it. It would be fine.


	12. XII

**Story: **Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

**XII**

Rory opened her eyes enough to see she was in her own room. Sunlight streamed through her curtains and warmed her as she lay in her bed—it was far more comfortable than the hotel's she'd slept on that week. She reached for her phone from her desk and checked for text messages. She didn't have any since the last time she'd looked. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"I know I've only been to one other party here," Tristan had said a week earlier as he put his shoes on and tucked his shirt in, "but this one is definitely my favorite."

"It's turning out to be one of the better ones. It might surprise you to know," she'd told him while slipping on her underwear, "but this is not the first time I've almost had sex at a party."

"Congratulations, you finally finished."

She'd slipped her shoes back on and snatched the birthday card off the lamp table before meeting him at the door.

"But you really can't surprise me anymore," he'd said as they stepped out into the hall.

"At all? I'm sure I could come up with something."

He'd shaken his head. "I really doubt it."

"What if I had a tattoo on my lower back?" she'd asked, splaying her hands behind her to illustrate. "You'd expect that now?"

"A tramp stamp? I guess that would be _mildly_ surprising," he'd answered. When they'd reached the stairs, he stopped. "Wait, I should go the other way. It'll look suspicious."

"True, and I'm forbidden to you."

He'd given her a coquettish look as he turned. "Yes you are."

Rory opened her eyes again, grinning a little. She furrowed her brows and picked her phone back up. She listened to her voicemail, but didn't have any new messages. So she pushed her blanket away and got up, heading for the answering machine in the hall. She was met with disappointment there as well, since the only message was from Babette. Rory scrolled down the contacts on her cell phone and dialed as she returned to her room to sit on her bed.

After a couple rings, her mother answered, "Dragonfly Inn."

"Mom, hey."

"Good afternoon, sleepy head. What time did you get in last night?"

"Around one. Then I couldn't get to sleep right away," Rory said. "It took me a little while to wind down and shut off my brain." She glanced at her laptop bag on the floor. She'd probably spend the rest of the day pouring over it. She slowly asked, "Did anyone call for me while I was gone?"

"Anyone who?"

"Just anyone," she said. "Maybe to ask if I was back yet, or when I'd be getting back."

"Oh. Him."

"Him who?"

"Him who, anyone who, isn't all the same? Tristan did not call," Lorelai said. "I haven't heard from him since the party last week."

Rory got up again and went to the kitchen, going straight for the refrigerator. "What's wrong with you?" She peered at the shelves, which were mostly filled with cake of assorted flavors.

"Nothing."

"You sound like Grandma."

"Do not compare me to her," Lorelai said firmly.

"I wasn't. I was just making an observation." Rory took a plate of cake and sat it on the table. She got a fork and didn't bother with a clean plate, instead digging into a piece of red velvet.

"Either way, once was enough."

Rory frowned. "Someone said you were like Grandma?"  
>"Someone, anyone, <em>him<em>. And it wasn't said so much as implied," Lorelai said. "But I turned it around on him."

"Good for you," Rory said. "So he didn't call you at all?"

"No. But I'm not the one he slept with either, so it shouldn't come as a big surprise," her mother said dryly. Changing the subject, she asked, "What do you want to do tonight? I'm thinking we should get food from Luke's, and then bring it back home for a movie night."

"It's Friday."

"I know."

"We have to go to Friday night dinner." Rory added, "I think I'm going to drive separate."

Lorelai scoffed. "You are so transparent. But we don't have to go," she said. "Mom called yesterday. She said I could skip since you're out of town."

"But I'm back now."

"She doesn't know that, and I don't plan on telling her. I need a break from crazy."

"Grandma never lets you off the hook just because I won't be there. Why would she do that?" Rory asked.

"I have no idea. I only know she canceled tonight, and I wasn't about to argue with her." Lorelai greeted customers. "Hey, I need to go."

"I'll see you later," Rory said before hanging up. She wondered what her grandmother was up to. The only thing that came to mind was a dinner arrangement Quinn had mentioned at the party. Rory got up to start a pot of coffee, and while she waited for it to brew, she dialed Emily.

"Hello?"

"Grandma, hi. How are you?"

"Fine. Are you back home?" Emily asked. "Did your mother pass along the message about tonight?"

"Yes I'm back, and yes, I just got the message. I'm kind of disappointed though," Rory said, sounding the part. "I was looking forward to dinner tonight."

"I'm sorry, but I had to cancel," Emily said quickly. "Something came up, and I won't be able to host dinner."

"Mom said it was because I was out of town."

"Yes, you were, and then something came up. So I just canceled. It was unavoidable."

"What came up?" Rory asked innocently, starting on a second piece of cake, this time chocolate.

After a couple seconds of silence, Emily evasively said, "I'm having some guests over, and I can't cancel on them, it's too late."

Rory narrowed her eyes suspiciously, poking at some extra icing with her fork. "Who is it?"  
>There was an extended pause, then, "Just a couple of people."<p>

"Well, you have guests sometimes and Mom and I still come. They're usually nice, too. I always enjoy them," Rory said. "It's not the pope, is it? Because then I'd understand. Mom would make all kinds of off color jokes about his hat and ask if she could ride in the pope mobile."

"No, it's just a couple of regular people."

Rory pressed on, "If it's okay, I'd still like to come. We didn't get to have dinner last week because of the party, so we could make up for it. Mom doesn't have to come, she already made other plans anyway."

Her grandmother took her time deliberating. Very slowly, she finally said, "Okay, I guess it would be all right if you came to dinner."

"Great, I'll see you tonight. Bye Grandma," Rory said before hanging up, self-satisfied.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan was sitting in his car that evening, parked in front of Emily's house. Again. Why was he always here? It was stupid, she didn't even like him. She was just punishing him. Since he was the first one there and had no intention of sitting through a forced conversation with the Gilmore matriarch, he turned his radio up and laid his head back. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and didn't open them when he heard a car pull into the driveway.

A minute later, there was a sharp rap at his window. When he opened his eyes, his head jerked back and his heart jumped into his throat. He opened his window.

"Surprise," Rory said, leaning over with her hands at her hips. "And you thought I couldn't do that anymore."

"You're back," he said. "I didn't know you were back."

"Clearly," she said evenly.

He looked from the house back to her. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Oh? What is it then?"

"It's a set up with some girl a week after I had sex with you. And all in one convenient location."

Sardonically, she said, "You're right. It looks much different from what it is."

"You're very cute when you're jealous. Has anyone ever told you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "You obviously agreed to dinner again because you wanted to."

"No, you weren't there," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Emily and I had words, and she backed me into a corner."

Rory narrowed her eyes. "You drove yourself here. And on _my_ night with my grandmother."

Emphatically, he said, "Exactly. Why would she say yes to Friday when everyone who's anyone knows it's her family time? She's on a mission and you aren't going to get in her way." After a second he said, "I was going to call."

"Sure."

"I was. Later tonight, even."

"Uh-huh."

"It's been a week," he went on. "Any sooner and I'd look desperate. And needy."

"I don't think a week is the traditional rule."

"Now you're tradition? You left the country afterward. Not just the party, but the _country_," he said. "To me," he said, gesturing toward himself, "that doesn't scream 'I had a nice time and would like to see you again'. Does it to you?"

She crossed her arms, but her glare downgraded to a grim expression. "Maybe not to some people."

"The only thing I have to go off is you aren't casual girl. You're just lucky I listen," he said. He was about to take his key from the ignition, but she leaned closer to his open window.

"What are you listening to?"

He turned it up slightly. "Carrie Underwood."

"Really?" she asked, with a disapproving tone.

"What? I think a couple of her songs are about a younger me."

She arched a brow.

He went on, "It isn't gangster rap. I could only listen to that ironically." He paused for a beat, eyeing her, and then added, "Same goes for you. She's the all-American girl next door. What's not to like?"

"It's so—"

"Mainstream?" he asked rhetorically. "Just because a lot of people like something doesn't make it bad."  
>"It doesn't make it good either."<p>

"You're such a snob. Like my mom, but worse. At least the stuff she listens to isn't obscure junk no one's heard of." He took the key out and opened the door.

Rory had to take a step back. She crossed her arms again and looked at him pensively rather than offended like he thought she would. "How do you know what music I like?"  
>He shut his door. "I just know stuff. Call me observant."<p>

Appearing less frigid, she asked, "How did you move from Mom's good side to the doghouse in the same night?"

Tristan cringed. "We had a few words too. I was thinking on my feet, and I don't know." He shrugged. "I just started arguing the other side."

"As a general rule of thumb, don't compare Lorelai to Emily. She doesn't like it," Rory said. "You might have to get her backstage passes to make up for it."

He shook his head. "I don't think I'll be able to swing that." He looked up at the mansion and exhaled. "I guess I should stay late and have a heart to heart with her. I should have brought my birth certificate."

"To prove your lineage?"

"No. Proof of my age. I do not need her to handpick women for me and then supervise. I'll see whoever I want, even if her psychotic grandmother hates me for no good reason."

"Grandma isn't psychotic," Rory argued.

Tristan looked back at her, giving her a quick once over as he did it. "You are so presumptuous. I could be talking about anyone's psychotic grandmother. They're a dime a dozen."

She took a step closer to him and gripped his tie, slowly sliding her fingers down. She wasn't using much pressure, but he was still drawn closer. "Oh really?"

He inclined his head toward her and kissed her, backing her against his car. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He broke the kiss after a moment but held on to her. "Okay, Emily's the psycho."

Rory grinned a little and slid her cool hands to his smooth cheeks. "Don't commit a crime, they'd catch you, easy." She tugged on his tie playfully and dropped back on her heels.

"I know. It's happened before," he said, letting her go.

He offered his arm, and she took it, saying, "Oh, she'll like this." When they got to the door, Rory pulled her arm away so she could press the doorbell.

He asked, "So what are you doing later tonight—after?" She wouldn't get called away, he told himself. And if she did, it would be okay. He would not be disappointed about something he knew could happen.

Grinning, she faced him, so they were an inch apart when the door swung open.

Tristan looked at their host and smiled a big genuine smile. "Good evening, Emily."

She was startled to see both of them. Her eyes flickered from Rory to Tristan and back. "Did you come together?"

His smile widened.

Before he could answer, Rory said, "We just got here at the same time."

"Yeah," Tristan agreed. "We definitely didn't _arrive_ together. I didn't even know she was back in town until just now."

Emily stared at him for a second, her jaw clenched. Hastily, she opened the door wider and said, "Won't you come in?"  
>"I would love to, thanks," he said. He kept his eyes on her as he pushed Rory by the small of her back so she'd go before him. "Ladies first."<p>

They followed Emily into the living room. "What would you like to drink?" she asked, heading for the drink cart.

"Martini," Rory said as she sat on one of the couches.

"Scotch," Tristan said. He sat next to her.

She put a hand up to whisper, "If she liked you, she'd have complimented your drink choice."

He whispered back, "I can live without superfluous praise."

As she mixed the martini, Emily asked, "Did you have a good flight?"

"It was long and the inflight movie was terrible," Rory answered. "It definitely wasn't as nice as traveling on a private jet."

"Well, not everyone can travel so lavishly." Emily turned and stopped short when she saw he'd sat right next to Rory. Recovering, she handed them their drinks and sat in front of the fireplace.

"It's getting really nice out," Rory said. "Summer will be here in no time." She addressed Tristan, "You might have to put in a pool after all."

"I'll think about it," he said. "That actually reminds me, I got furniture for my basement this week."

"Yeah?" Rory asked. "How does it look?"

"You can come by and find out for yourself." The corner of his mouth turned up. "My house is right on your way home."

"Yes it is," she agreed, taking a sip of her martini.

Perturbed, Emily said, "I never could put furniture in the basement. There can be such problems with mildew and things start to smell musty."

"No, I think his will be okay," Rory said. "It looks good. The whole house is really coming together."

Tristan added, "And all mildew has been taken care of."

"How nice," Emily said. When the doorbell chimed, no one moved. "The maid will get it."

They continued to sit. Tristan took a casual sip of his scotch. Rory gave a tight smile.

When the maid didn't walk by and the bell rang a second time, Emily impatiently stood. "I guess I'll get it myself." She looked from Tristan to Rory again, as though willing them to move away from each other.

When she was gone, Tristan said, "I hope you aren't expecting me to wander upstairs to meet you again. It would be too noticeable with such a small crowd." Then he added, "But I could probably be persuaded to feel you up in a back room."

Rory tilted her head closer to him. "You're digging your hole deeper."

He chewed on some ice. "So get your swim suit and I'll put that pool in." He added, "Make it a two piece."

They could hear Emily greeting her other guest. When she returned, she wasn't only accompanied by Quinn, but also by a man. Tristan didn't recognize him from the party, but he would have fit in with the others, with his suit and tie, and he was obviously refined.

"Who's that?" Rory asked without moving her lips.

"He's for you, silly," Tristan whispered back.

"Rory, have you met Quinn?" Emily asked.  
>In her normal speaking voice, Rory answered, "Yes, last week at the party."<p>

"Oh, what a disaster that was," Emily said lightly, as though she was in no way responsible.

"I don't know," Tristan said. "I had a really good time."

Ignoring him, Emily introduced Rory and then gestured to the man. "This is Xavier Thompson. He's visiting family for a couple days. So I just had to invite him to dinner."

"Where does she find these guys?" Rory muttered.

Tristan quietly answered, "A warehouse just outside Hartford."

"No, that's where _you_ live."

Emily looked at them sharply. "What are you two laughing about?"

"Nothing," Rory said quickly, still smiling.

Tristan stood to shake Xavier's hand and introduce himself. But he didn't move to the other couch as Emily probably wanted. He sat back down next to Rory, forcing the other two to sit across from them.

As Emily prepared the newcomers drinks, she continued her introduction, "Xavier works in New York for Random House."

Tristan whispered to Rory, "Oh, _jackpot_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, they were halfway through the main course, and Emily was only marginally happy with the situation. She somehow managed to separate Rory and Tristan, seating him next to Quinn and her by Xavier. But getting them as far away as she could didn't stop them from grinning at each other throughout the various conversations.

Rory pointed at Tristan, "Guess what Taylor Doose wants."

"Who's Taylor Doose?" Quinn asked.

Tristan answered, "Her town's selectman. I suspect he uses his position for his own self-interest."

"He tried to sue my mom's inn when he got food poisoning," Rory explained. "But Tristan came to Stars Hollow and figured out it was something from Taylor's store. So he dropped it."

"I think he just needed to be taken seriously for once," Tristan said as he cut his meat. "So what does he want? Something from Luke?"

"Yes," she said with a big smile.

"Who's Luke?" Xavier asked.

"My step-dad," Rory said. "It turns out Taylor wants to expand his old fashioned ice cream shop. Mom said he brought it up at the town meeting last week."

"The shop that shares a wall with the diner?" Tristan asked.

"Yes, exactly," she said. "He wants to put in a self-serve area. But they'd have to tear down the wall to expand. Threatening Mom with a law suit was the only way he could think to get it."

Quinn asked, "He couldn't just ask your step-father?"

"He'd get a no," Tristan said, as though he knew these people from his brief visit.

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "But if Mom thought it was a good idea, Luke might be persuaded."

"I can't imagine someone as anal as him letting other people serve themselves though," he commented. "But it looks like you were right. He just wanted something from Luke, not Lorelai's money."

"Yup," Rory said, a triumphant glint in her eye, as though they were sharing some inside joke.

He added to the rest of the group, "I lived in what was basically a small town for four years, but it wasn't nearly as kooky as Stars Hollow. If you ever stumble in and a guy carrying a brief case tries to sell you a trombone, run away."

He was quite chatty this evening, Emily thought. A far cry from the last time he'd attended dinner. He was even enjoying himself. Probably because of all the attention from Rory.

"Speaking of trombones," Rory said, looking at Tristan, "did you know your mother is sponsoring Quinn for the symphony committee?"

"I did not." He glanced at Quinn. "That's nice."

"We're going to the ballet next month," Quinn told him.

"Excellent. That means I don't have to go with her. Have a good time."

"I'm sure I will," she said. "I've been trying to convince Cecilia to be more active in the DAR. She's a member, after all." She looked at Rory. "You are too. Have you ever considered returning?"

Emily, uplifted by the suggestion, said, "We would all love to have you back."

Rory finished chewing and answered, "I'm really busy."

"And always leaving the country," Tristan muttered.

She glanced at him with a slight frown.

"Well, you should think about coming back," Quinn said encouragingly. "Every time you're mentioned, someone brings up the functions you organized. Like the USO themed fundraiser."

"Right," Rory said, looking back to the blond woman. "I advertised on the internet to sell tickets."

"It was quiet ingenious," Emily said. "I didn't agree with all her menu changes, but it turned out to be a huge hit."

"Thanks," Rory said with a modest smile.

On the other side of the table, Tristan looked at Rory and commented, "And you said you never learned how to plan parties."

She glanced up at him with an overly sweet smile. "I'm just full of surprises."

"You sure are, Mary."

To Emily's bewilderment, Rory didn't protest. If anything, she may as well have winked at him, the way the corner of her mouth turned up and her eyes smiled.

He glanced at Emily. "Sorry. You know what they say about old habits."

Next to him, Quinn frowned and sat her fork down. Her gaze shifted slowly from Rory to Tristan and silently formed an 'oh' with her lips, apparently coming to some sort of conclusion. She lifted her napkin and patted her mouth with it, before glancing between the two again.

"Anyway," Emily addressed Xavier, "we had to turn people away from the fundraiser, since Rory did so wonderful advertising."

Tristan smirked slightly and turned to the man to ask, "So what does someone in the marketing department of a major publishing house do on a day to day basis?"

Quinn also addressed Xavier, "Yes, tell us. It sounds fascinating." She gave him her full attention.

Emily frowned. What was she doing? He was obviously perfect for Rory. And Quinn was here to have dinner with Tristan again. Calm down, Emily told herself. Quinn was just brought up with good manners. She was only making polite conversation.

"I do a lot of administrative work, like preparing summary reports for the sales department," Xavier answered. "And sometimes I'm a liaison to booksellers."

"So you don't get to help decide what books get published," Rory said.

"No, that's the editing department. I help promote the ones that made it through the gate."

Tristan took a drink of water and commented, "Reading through manuscripts would be like a permanent vacation for Rory."

Eagerly, Emily turned to her granddaughter and said, "That's true. You would be perfect for that kind of job. I'm sure Xavier has contacts in the editing department."

"But I would have to move to New York City," Rory said, taking a bite of asparagus.

"It's not that far away," Emily said, liking the idea more as she thought about it. "You could live in the Upper East Side. You almost did once."

"But that was a long time ago," she argued. "And I'm not really interested in living there anymore. I like it here. I still get to come to Friday night dinners."

Thankfully, Xavier said, "New York isn't a long drive. You could probably still make it."

Turning to Emily, Tristan asked, "Just out of curiosity, how often does she miss your dinners—even living close as she does?"

Rory frowned at him again and answered, "Not that often."  
>But he held a hand up to her and kept his eyes on Emily. "How often?"<p>

Hesitantly, Emily said, "Well, she misses weeks at a time on occasion."

He nodded once, glanced to Rory, and then quietly returned to his plate.

Defensively, she said, "It really isn't that much. And I don't miss on purpose." She turned to Emily, concerned. "You know it isn't on purpose."

"Yes, I know." But like Tristan had a moment before, Emily continued with her dinner. She knew Rory was telling the truth. Still, it would be nice if she finally settled down and left her mother's house. Living farther away would be a small sacrifice.

Abruptly, Rory turned to Tristan to say, "You have to leave the country for work too sometimes."  
>He drank from water before he said, "I know. In fact, I'm leaving tomorrow."<p>

"Tomorrow?" she asked, tone less defensive.

"Mm-hmm. Luxemburg and Italy this time."

"That sounds wonderful," Quinn said.

"Yeah, it'll be great," he said, somewhat flatly.

"How long is your trip?" Rory asked, looking down at her plate.

"Until Wednesday."

"Oh." The wind apparently blown from her sails, she said, "I guess running into each other at the airport was a one-time thing."

"Probably," he agreed, returning her bleak look. Quickly, he added, "But that's okay."

Mustering up a slightly more optimistic attitude, Rory said, "I think the last time I was in Luxemburg was when Mom and I backpacked through Europe before I started college."

"The two fitness gurus backpacking?" he asked doubtfully.

Rory's mischievous grin returned. "We practiced before we went."

Quinn asked, "How?"

Rory finished chewing her last bite of pasta and paused for dramatic effect. "We put our backpacks on and walked to the diner."

Tristan smiled and shook his head. "Of course you did."

"The diner again," Xavier commented. Justifiably confused, he asked, "How far of a walk is that?"

"What is it?" Tristan asked Rory. "Five minutes?"  
>"Or ten. It depends on how hungry we are."<p>

They smiled at each other again. So this was it, Emily thought. Rory had obviously made her choice. Francine was the clear winner. Her act of self-interest involving two random people was getting results. Tristan couldn't be distracted by anyone else. And Rory was no better. Nothing Emily did was stopping them from careening toward—wherever it was they were going. His house later tonight, apparently.

When a cell phone rang from someone's pocket, Xavier checked his, but shook his head. Emily looked at her granddaughter disapprovingly. Couldn't she get through a few hours without having that thing buzzing away in her pocket?

"It's not mine," Rory said.

Across the table, Tristan was frowning down at his own phone. He glanced up. "Uh, it's me. I think I need to take this," he said before standing and stepping out of the dining room.

Emily looked around at the plates, and seeing they were mostly empty, impatiently said, "Where is that girl? She should have brought dessert by now. I'll go check to see what the holdup is." She stood and left the room, passing Tristan as she went.

"When?" he asked into his phone, brows furrowed. "I never got the paperwork . . . Two weeks ago? Where was it sent?" He ran a hand through his short blond hair. "No, I'll go look first."

She continued into the kitchen and found the young maid leaning up against the cabinet, reading a magazine. "Sarah," Emily said pointedly. "We're all finished with dinner. Come take our plates and serve dessert."

The maid looked up quickly and sat the magazine down. "Yes, ma'am," she said, hastening to do as told.

Emily followed her out of the kitchen, and passed Tristan again, still on the phone.

"Can you meet me at my office? I need to talk to you." While listening to the response, he cast his eyes upward. "Fine, I'll come by the house then." He hung up and turned to find Emily. There wasn't much color left in his face. "I'm afraid I have to cut the evening short," he told her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

A silent second ticked by. "I think it will be for you."

Emily knit her brows, having no idea how his phone call would possibly affect her. She followed him back to the dining room, where the maid was collecting a stack of plates.

Tristan stopped at the entrance. "I have to go," he told the others. Rory looked up and he focused on her and added, "I'm sorry."

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

He hesitated before he said, "It's fine." He addressed Xavier, "It was nice to meet you."

After they all bid him a good bye, Emily said, "I'll see you out."

Neither said anything as they walked to the foyer. When they reached the front door, he tonelessly said, "Thanks for a nice evening."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After dessert, Rory was sitting in the living room again, slightly anxious. She'd decided to stay for after dinner drinks. Someone had to have that heart to heart with Emily. The task fell on her shoulders by default. She glanced at her watch as her grandmother entered the room.

"They're going to go get coffee," she said, exasperated, having just seen her last guests out.

"Quinn seemed to like Xavier. They're both very nice."

"Yes, well, last week she liked Tristan. I had no idea the girl was so flaky," Emily said, going to the drink cart.

"You know Grandma," Rory said. "It was nice of you to think of Tristan and introduce him to Quinn, but he's actually never had any trouble finding girls. And I'm not sure she was such a good fit for him anyway."

Emily looked at Rory warily, perhaps finally getting tired of all this. "Why not?"

"For one thing, I think she's too young for him."

"She graduated from Vassar last year. That's only a seven year difference."

"That's a pretty big difference. She's really young."

Emily didn't say anything for several seconds. Finally, she asked, "What age do you think would be better for him?" She handed over a cocktail.

Rory took a sip and answered, "Maybe someone his own age."

"I just thought they'd be good together."

"I don't know," she said. "I think you'd have to get to him better to know who'd be good for him."

Again, Emily didn't say anything.

Rory looked down at her drink and swirled the ice around before looking back at her grandmother. "Xavier was very nice, and he has an interesting job. In fact, all those guys at the party last week were nice, and respectful, too. They all had successful careers and were from good families, right?"

"Yes," Emily said slowly. "And they were highly educated. Not just anyone can keep up with you."

"Sure. So really, anyone who meets those standards—which are understandably high—would get your stamp of approval, right?"

Hesitantly, Emily said, "I suppose. I don't use a rubric to add up scores."

"Of course you don't," Rory said. "I'm just saying, you're not asking for much. So hypothetically, I could find someone on my own who you'd like."

"I suppose," Emily said again, and not enthusiastically.

Quickly, Rory added, "But I always appreciate everything you do for me. Really, thank you for everything you've done. I just think I can manage without all the introductions."

It was silent for an extended period of time, as Rory let her words sink in. Emily looked pensive, like she couldn't quite figure something out. Finally, she shook the ice around in her glass before looking back at Rory and changing the subject, "Well, I'm glad you could come tonight." She averted her gaze. "I'm sure you have other plans tonight."

"Oh, well, nothing special," Rory said. "But I think I will head out." She sat her drink down and stood. "Have a good night, I'll see you next week."

"Yes, I'll see you then," Emily said.

Rory saw herself out of the house, and checked her phone as she got in her car. She didn't have any messages, so she dialed Tristan. As she pulled out of the driveway, she listened to his voicemail kick in. She hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat.

It took her ten minutes to get to his house. It was dark, inside and out. But she still walked up to the porch and knocked on the door. She waited a couple minutes, not surprised when no one answered. She took out her phone and dialed his number again. Since he still didn't answer, she left a message.

"I want the record to show, you were the one to leave dinner before it was over tonight," she said. "And _you're_ the one leaving the country tomorrow. This officially makes you a hypocrite, and I want you to know. I took it upon myself to talk to Grandma before I left, and at the very least, she didn't insult you. That's progress." Rory went on, "Now, I am at your house, because unless I misunderstood something, I was invited. I don't know where you had to run off to, but when you get home, I will not be sitting on your front stoop. I don't want to look desperate."

Satisfied she showed him, Rory hung up the phone and headed back to her car.


	13. XIII

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: This one really dives right in.

**XIII**

Rory was sitting in the dining room of the Dragonfly, reading a document on her laptop. She was having difficulty concentrating on the words though. Her eyes kept straying to the corner of the screen to check the time. It was Wednesday, so Tristan was supposed to be back from his trip. But she had no idea what time he was getting in.

She tapped her pen against the table for a little while, when an idea came to her. She saved the document on a jump drive and pulled it out of her laptop before walking over to the front desk. She smiled nicely. "Hi Michel."

The Frenchman didn't look up from the scheduling book as he drawled, "What do you want?"

"Can I print something from your computer?"

"It is for inn business."

"I only need two sheets of paper. You won't even know they're gone."

He looked up at her then. "Paper, post-its, pens, paper clips. Do you think I haven't been keeping track of all the office supplies you've stolen over the years?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure it's an itemized list with prices included."

Michel opened a drawer. "I have it right here."

Lorelai approached them, having just come down the stairs. "What's going on?"

"I need to print something," Rory told her.

"Go ahead," Lorelai said, to Michel's annoyance.

After Rory printed her document, she went back to the dining room to collect her things. She pulled a business card out of her wallet and checked the address before she went out to her car and headed to Hartford.

Within thirty minutes, she was parked on the street in front of a downtown brick building. It was the first time she'd ever been there, but this was what all the fuss was about. There was a sign with the name of the firm in the small front yard. The two story office building looked like it'd been there for a hundred years.

Rory grabbed her document from the passenger seat and got out of her car. She walked up the steps and through the front door. There was a secretary sitting behind a desk, and a few chairs made up a waiting room. She asked if Tristan was in his office.

"He is," the woman behind the desk said. "You can go back, it's the second door on the right."

"Thanks," Rory said, heading down the hallway. When she got to his open office, she peeked in to see him sitting at his desk, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he frowned over a piece of paper. She knocked on the frame of the door and he glanced up.

He stared at her for a couple seconds. "What are you doing here?"

She took a few steps into the office and held up her papers. "I have a contract with an editor—from a paper I've written for—a new editor, actually." She continued to ramble, "I usually just sign and return them, pretty much trusting the editor. But I was reading through this today and thought it might not be a terrible idea to have a real lawyer read it."

She took a few more steps in and sat in a chair in front of his desk. "You're back. Hi."

"Hi."

"How was your trip?"

"Fine," he answered.

"So can you read through this?" she asked, handing him the papers.

He silently reached over and laid the contract in front of him. He stared at it for a little while, but his eyes didn't move left to right.

"You must be jet lagged," she commented. "I usually have to sleep at least half the day when I get back home."

"I had things to do," he said without looking up.

Rory's eyes roamed around the office. There was a half full bookshelf behind his desk. She could see a box on the floor with more books. He hadn't been in the office for too long, maybe he wasn't completely unpacked.

"So explain this again," he said, tapping his pen on the papers.

"It's a contract. Some editors want it in writing before I do a story. Others are okay with a verbal agreement."

"And this is a new editor?"

"Yeah, but not a new paper. It happens sometimes," she said. "I establish a relationship with editors of different papers. But they don't stay there forever. So I have to go through the whole process. Sometimes the new editor isn't interested in having a freelance writer on hand. So then I have to find a different paper to compensate."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It can be."

Something out in the hall caught Tristan's eye and his jaw clenched. Rory glanced over her shoulder and saw Mason with a man who looked older than her and Tristan. This wasn't Mason's office, so he probably wasn't talking with a client. They were in the middle of a discussion as they moved down the hall.

Rory looked back at Tristan. His demeanor was darker than it already had been. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

He quickly looked back at her and down to the paper. "It's fine."

Fine. Everything was fine. He seemed to be reading this time. "I guess you do all kinds of stuff on your own. You're your own editor and legal department."

"And accounting and marketing," she added. "I do it all."

"You don't need anyone," he muttered. "You do everything yourself."

Rory's brows moved closer together. "Yeah, but the payoff is good. I have the freedom to do whatever I want whenever I want. I can do anything."

"And you probably won't even regret it for another . . ." He glanced up at her. "Ten years. But you can get a cat."

"Regret what?"

"Not taking the time to have a life." He turned his attention back to her contract.

"I have a life."

He scoffed. "No, you have a job. You've confused the two."

"I have not," she protested.

"I don't know when you got so cynical, but at some point you got it in your head you could only have one."

"I did not." Pointedly, she said, "And I like what _I_ do."

"Which part? The living in hotels and on planes? Or the part where you don't have anyone to go home to?" He went on, "Oh, I'm sorry, you go home to your mother."

"At least I chose what to do with _my_ life on my own. You're only here because you're an extension of your dad," she sneered.

"I am not."

"That's true," she said sarcastically. "When _Cat's in the Cradle_ comes on the radio, do you break into a cold sweat? Or do you just run away?"

He glared at her.

"Do you even like what you do? My guess is you're only in Straub's office because you're Daddy's whipping boy."

He picked the contract up and roughly handed it back. "This is fine. You don't need me to read it. You don't need me for anything."

"You're right, I don't," Rory said, snatching the papers and standing up. She left the office without looking back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, Rory was in the diner, clicking the end of her pen as she tried to concentrate on an article she was editing. She kept replaying the previous afternoon in her mind. She thought Tristan would have at least been happy to see her. He didn't crack a smile the entire time she was in his office.

And he was wrong, she had a life. She did lots of things besides work. She still read. And she lived in Stars Hollow. There were always activities to participate in. She didn't make them all, but there were so many. No one could go to every single one, except Taylor. It didn't make her a bad person just because she missed things now and then.

Rory took a deep breath and messaged her temples. She closed her eyes for a moment and then got back to work. She rearranged some sentences, changed some words and reread the whole thing when she was finished. It was worse than it was before her changes. She shook her head and tried again. She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. She thought Tristan tried too hard with his parents, but she hadn't meant to throw it in his face like that.

Maybe he really did like international law. It sounded exciting enough. He got to travel, what was there not to like? The hotels and long flights, apparently. Maybe he was just tired from his trip, she reasoned. She was never cheerful after a long flight. Jet lag was the worse. She had to get straight to work when she landed in other countries, and it was awful. Without several hours sleep, she was miserable.

Rory sighed. She'd been mean and didn't know how to make up for it. If he wanted to work with his dad to have some semblance of a relationship with him, it was his choice, not hers. She shouldn't judge him for it, even if she disagreed. But then she remembered he didn't work with Mason, not yet. There was one person in their way.

She didn't feel comfortable going to ask a great uncle she'd only met once to retire. Unless she thanked him for the book and subtly implied how retirement would give Abram more time to read. So there was a viable segue. Then she thought of Francine. She had leverage with the woman.

Rory gathered her things and left the diner, walking back home to her car. She drove to Hartford, and found the correct house. She got out and glanced up at it. This was where everything began, and it was where she was going to end it—or end something. A lot more came out of that night than she ever would have imagined.

She walked through the gate and went to the front door, ringing the bell. When the maid answered, Rory asked to speak with Francine. She was led through the house to the den, where her father's mother was sitting in a leather armchair, reading a book. She looked up when Rory entered.

"Hello," Francine said, awkwardly closing her book.

"I need to talk to you," Rory said. Her eyes shifted left to right, and found a chair to sit in. They looked at each other for a few seconds before Rory said, "You shouldn't have involved me in your problem."

"I'm sorry," Francine said quickly. "I had no idea you knew Tristan from school and didn't like him."

Rory frowned. "You're sorry we weren't strangers?"

"No. I'm sorry for trying to set you up."

Rory crossed her arms. "It was really selfish of you. You never treated me like a member of your family, and then you just used me when it worked out for you."

"I'm sorry," Francine said again, like she was a broken record.

"Let's not pretend that party was an attempt to get to know me."

"I'm sorry about that too."

"Just—stop saying sorry—the party was fine," she said. "Do you really want to make it up to me?"

"Yes," Francine said.

"Then let it go."

"What?"

"The firm. Let it go. It's just an office building. And I'm sure Straub worked hard to make it a good business, but Tristan will too."

Francine raised a brow slightly. "Tristan?"

"Yes. I don't have high hopes for you and me," Rory said. "But I think Tristan and Mason only have a business relationship." She paused. "So I want you to ask your brother-in-law to retire. Then Tristan can move up and they can merge the firms. It'll be a bonding experience for them."

Francine blinked. "Abram decided to retire at the end of the month. He just announced it," she said. "But the merger is being taken care of."

Rory asked, "What do you mean?"

"They just hired a new associate from Mason's firm. He'll be the new partner. Tristan won't be able to do anything as a junior associate."

Rory didn't say anything for a moment and then shook her head. "That's not right. Tristan is supposed to move up. He's the link between the two firms. It's why he worked there in the first place. His dad needed him there. It's why you tried to set me up with him."

Francine shrugged a little. "I just know they hired someone this week, out of the blue. And Mason is moving forward with his plans with the new associate."

"No, it's supposed to be Tristan," Rory said firmly. "Why would Mason do that?" she asked. And how would Francine know? Rory stood. "I have to go." When she was at the door, she stopped. "If you really want to tell someone you're sorry, apologize to Grandma." Hastily, she added, "And stop blaming Mom for everything."

Francine nodded once as Rory left the room.

She walked back through the house and out the front door. Her arms were crossed and a mean frown covered her face. No wonder Tristan had been in a mood yesterday. But it didn't make sense. What was the point of him working at Straub's firm if someone else was going to swoop in at the last minute? Why did it have to happen now, rather than in a month? Tristan said they were just waiting Abram out. Why the sudden urgency?

Rory considered asking Tristan, but she figured she'd only get vague answers about how it was just business. There was obviously one person who knew why the plans changed. Rory got back in her car and looked up Mason's law firm.

She made the drive in less than fifteen minutes. She went in and asked to speak with Mason, and was told he was busy. So she sat on a big comfortable couch in the waiting area. There were magazines on a large coffee table, but she wasn't interested in reading any of them. It was a half hour before she was allowed to go to Mason's office. She walked down a long hallway and turned a corner to continue. She passed a number of offices, each had a desk with a busy attorney sitting behind it. Some were on the phone and others were talking directly to clients.

By the time Rory reached the office she was looking for, she was in a back corner of the building. She knocked on the closed door and was admitted entrance. Mason was writing on a yellow legal pad. He looked up at her as she sat in one of the chairs in front of him. "Ms. Gilmore, how can I help you? Not more legal trouble, I hope?"

"No," she said, almost scowling. Skipping pleasantries, she asked, "Why did you betray Tristan?"

He frowned and put his pen down. "What did I do to betray him?"

"You had him work at Straub's firm thinking he'd be the one to do that merger with you, and then you sent someone else to do it," she said. "Why would you do that to your own son?"  
>He laced his fingers together and laid his hands on his desk. "There's an upcoming vacancy. I did what had to be done."<p>

Nonplussed, Rory asked, "You really wanted it so bad you couldn't wait a month? Francine said Abram is retiring. It's only a few weeks."

Mason stared at her for a moment. "You don't know all the details."

"Yes I do," Rory said. "Do you know how lucky you are to have Tristan as your son?"

"How so?" he asked with furrowed brows.

"You don't have to fight him on all this," she said. "He does it because you want him to."

"Why would he fight me on working in Straub's office?" Mason asked. "It was his idea."

"It was?" she asked, not really needing confirmation. She could picture it.  
>Mason nodded. "I talked about merging the firms and he offered to work there. I didn't force him to do anything. Do you know what happens when you put a person in a cage?"<p>

She shrugged as her answer.

"They want out," Mason said. "They only think about how to escape. Has Tristan conned you into thinking he's different?"  
>Indignantly, she said, "He is. I know this stuff is just business for you, but it's personal for him."<p>

"The two of you have talked about it at great length?"

"Not exactly," she said. "But lawyer stuff seems to be the only thing he can talk to you about." She added, "He probably _wants_ to take over for you one day—if you leave your company to him."

"Who else would I leave things to?" he asked rhetorically. Musingly, he said, "You're a journalist. You observe others, correct?"  
>"Yes," she said slowly.<p>

"I observe people too, and learn from them—my clients, for example. They're foolish, especially with their children."

"I've already heard this story. It's why you took Tristan to military school."

"I didn't take him anywhere," Mason said. "I put him on a plane to North Carolina, and I had to come home from Fiji to do it."

"Fiji?" she asked, her shoulders drooping. "You were in Fiji?"

"It was a business trip. I'm a busy man."

"Too busy to be a father to your son?" she asked. "Maybe those pranks were just a cry for help. Maybe he wanted you to be at home more."

"No, it was because he thought he was above the law. I was glad to teach him otherwise." Dryly, Mason went on, "I suppose you'd like to suggest how he thought it could be a bonding opportunity to stand in front of a judge together. Whatever the excuse, it backfired on him."

Rory stared at him in disbelief.

After a moment, he asked with a frown, "Now I'm curious. What did your father do when you borrowed that yacht?"  
>She was silent at first. She crossed her arms and admitted, "He wasn't there."<p>

"Ah, that's right. When you think about it, that's the reason you and I know each other at all. Christopher Hayden wasn't around. And yet you've come here to condemn me about what a horrible father you think I am."

Weakly, she muttered, "You're just . . . harsh."

Mason titled his chair back. "If Tristan is so willing to do everything I say, then why didn't he ask you to dinner? I told him he should after he met you, but he said no. How do you explain that?"

"I don't know why you'd care," Rory said. "It's not about me. You'll get what you want, even if Francine isn't happy about it."

"Good point, and true. But that still doesn't answer the question."

"Fine, Tristan already knew me and didn't want to date me." Hastily, she added, "At the time."

Mason narrowed his eyes slightly. "What gave you that idea?"

"He said so."

"Did he?"  
>"Yes."<p>

He smirked, not completely unlike Tristan. "Interesting." He seemed to think about it for a moment, then said, "See? He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do. I haven't damaged him as much as you'd like to think."

"But he might only be a lawyer because of you," she blurted out. "Don't you care whether or not he likes his job?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Mason asked. "He'll stand up and make an argument on reflex, without even agreeing with what he's saying. What else should he do with that skill?"

Mason was winning, and she'd walked in so determined.

"Are we finished here?" he asked.

No. She still didn't have any answers. But she stood and took a few steps away from his desk anyway. Before he could get back to work—and he was already picking up his phone—Rory turned. "You got lucky. Tristan is good at arguing, but it doesn't mean he likes corporate law. It isn't the only kind out there."

Mason's eyes flashed to hers and he edgily said, "That is certainly true."

"He shouldn't have to do something he doesn't like just to connect with you. It shouldn't be that hard."  
>He didn't say anything as he dialed his phone. He glanced back up at her and to the door, dismissing her.<p>

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that evening, Tristan was at home, taking a shower. As the hot water ran down his body, he thought about how quickly everything turned upside down. The things he thought were going his way were not. He wasn't going to get the girl after all. And he'd been so close. Rory came to his house after dinner Friday night. She talked to her irrational grandmother because of him.

He'd missed her call while searching his office. He'd found the envelope he was looking for, it'd been postmarked two weeks prior. His fate had been dealt and he could have known about it a lot sooner. Instead, he had five days left to get used to it. 'This officially makes you a hypocrite,' Rory had said in her message. That was an understatement. He spent so much time worrying about her leaving at a moment's notice, he didn't think he'd be the one to get called away. And it would be a lot longer than a week or so.

He'd been deluding himself the past few months. He had a plan. He had every intention of resigning from the JAG Corps after his commission was up. He let himself believe he was going to coast the remaining four years on inactive duty. And he was going to stay home, in Hartford until then. But he got his reality check.

He'd only been lying to himself anyway, thinking he could make it work. He knew Rory's career would get to him. He even went ahead with the argument he knew he'd start one day. It was how all the scenarios ended, and he'd thought of several. He could picture himself sitting in a restaurant, looking across the table at an empty chair. Or he'd be here at his house, waiting for a phone call. Her priorities in life were clear, and he couldn't rearrange hers to match his. The universe knew he wasn't going to make it work, so it was saving him the heartache.

No, he thought. The universe just hated him.

'This officially makes you a hypocrite.' It sure did. He was in the midst of that pity party he'd said he wasn't going to throw. He shook his head a little and finally took the shampoo down to wash his hair. When he was finished, he rubbed his face in his hands and let the water run another minute before turning it off. He stepped out of the shower and dried off.

In his bedroom, he put on a pair of gym shorts and heard knocking when he picked up his t-shirt. He walked around the bed as he put the shirt on. He opened the front door, surprised to find Rory with a dark bottle in one hand. She was supposed to be mad at him. Pointedly, he reached around and pressed the glowing door bell. They could both hear it ring throughout the house.

"I saw it," she said. "I chose not to ring it." After a pause, she said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I said—yesterday . . . in your office. I didn't mean it."

"It's okay."

"No it isn't, I was mean."

"I wasn't exactly nice. You really can't be held responsible for anything you said." He opened the door wider and she stepped in.

"You were tired and upset," she said as she followed him into the kitchen, which smelled like pizza.

"Upset about what?"

When they faced each other again, she said, "I heard about what happened—with your dad and the new guy at the office."

"Oh." That. "No big deal."

"Still," she said sympathetically. "I thought it was going to be you."

Things changed, he thought. He should tell her why. There wasn't a real reason to feel sorry for him. "Everyone is expendable."

She knit her brows in disapproval of that conclusion, and then held up the dark bottle. "I brought wine. It's blackberry, so it'll be like Kool Aid."

"Are you celebrating something?" he asked dryly.

"No, I'm cheering you up. I'm going to get you drunk and then take advantage of you."

For the first time all week, he smiled a little. "I don't need to be drunk for that." He went to the oven and opened it, peeking in at the pizza. He grabbed a pot holder and took it out, setting it on the island in front of Rory.

Shoulders sagging, she said, "You don't get delivery out here in the sticks, do you?"

He stared at her for a second. "Someone from Stars Hollow cannot call this the sticks. I have a Hartford zip code. And I am close enough to get delivery, I just chose not to."

She put a hand to her heart and exhaled dramatically. "Thank goodness."

There was an opening. Tell her it didn't matter. No one was going to have food delivered here for a while. Say it, he told himself, just get it over with. Maybe she'll still stay. Apparently afraid to find out if that was true, he kept quiet. Instead, he took down plates and glasses. Outside, grey clouds had formed. A steady rain started to fall. It wasn't even a full blown thunderstorm to reflect his mood, just a slow and steady rain.

Rory poured them each some of the wine while Tristan cut the pizza. When finished, he pointed the pizza cutter at her. "You only get half."

"Fine," she said, handing him his glass. They both put a couple slices on their plates.

"I had the firm hire a fifth cousin once removed from your dad—twice removed for you," he said. "So Francine doesn't need you anymore. Your dad actually helped track him down."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Guilty people will do anything," he said. "The kid is going to work as a paralegal, but I don't know how interested in law he is."

"So I might not be in the clear," she said.

He paused to chew before he said, "Maybe not. I know you like to date family members. You could pull an Eleanor Roosevelt. Do you want me to introduce you?"

Rory's mouth formed a grim line. "No thanks." She eyed him and added, "I didn't think I needed to resort to relatives."

He raised his glass slightly. "To not being . . . used anymore," he said, his words falling flat. He didn't miss her slight frown.

She ate some pizza and looked around the kitchen. "Who knew a first date with you wouldn't be in a fancy restaurant."

Only date, he silently corrected as he ate—the pizza was starting to lose its taste.

"Actually, maybe I did know," she said.

"I don't invite just anyone over," he said. "Only people I really like."

She chewed thoughtfully and narrowed her eyes a little. "So no clients?"

"Nope," he said, quicker than he'd intended. "They just—they don't need to come to my house," he said lamely.

She nodded. "Makes sense to me." When she still had one slice of pizza to claim, she pushed her empty plate away and finished off her glass of wine. "I want to see the basement."

"It's downstairs."

"Still? I never would have guessed," she said dryly, getting up and heading for the staircase.

Tristan followed, though he stopped halfway down the stairs and had a seat as Rory looked around. The previously empty space had a large rug and a couch facing the television that used to be in his bedroom. There were a couple of chairs on each side of the couch as well.

Rory turned back and walked toward the small room next to the stairs. She glowered and crossed her arms, probably because of the three black leather couches and large flat screen television. As she started up the stairs, she said, "I still think books would look better in that room."

"And I still disagree," he said, standing to follow.

"So I guess that's everything except your bedroom."

"No. It's finished too."

She stopped. "I was supposed to paint it."

"I did it last week." And he'd kept the television off.

"Oh." A silent beat passed. "Can I see it?"

"You know the way," Tristan said, going to the island to clear their plates.

He should go tell her what was going to happen and send her home, he thought. It was the right thing to do. Nothing could be done to change the situation. He glanced out the window above the sink. He couldn't turn her out while it was raining. Chivalrous, he thought dryly. That's what he was.

He walked to the front door and locked the deadbolt, then turned to his left to the master bedroom. He stopped at the door and leaned against the frame. He watched Rory check out the blue walls. She didn't turn the lamp on, and only a gloomy light came through the windows.

"The rest of the furniture almost matches the bed," he commented, tilting his head toward a chest of drawers.

"I like it," she said, stopping next to the bed on the side near the door. "It's a big improvement over the futon."

He walked into the room, stopping a foot in front of her.

She took a step closer and pressed her hands against his. "So next weekend," she started. A flash of lightening lit up the sky outside, and she quietly gasped and looked out the window.

Tristan kept his eyes on her face and laced his fingers with hers. "Mm-hmm."  
>She turned back to him and started talking faster, "Right, there's this thing in town—it's an annual thing—where the women make picnic lunches, and guys bid on the baskets. Then, the basket maker has lunch with the guy who bought it."<p>

"And you're going to write an article about it as a feminist issue?" he asked.

She smiled a little. "No."

"You want me to threaten Doose with a discrimination suit?"  
>She laughed lightly. "No."<p>

Someone else would eat that lunch with her, but he couldn't help but ask, "What, exactly, do you fill your basket with?"

Seemingly pleased that he could take a hint, she said, "Whatever's in the refrigerator."

He thought for a second. "The cake is probably gone."

She scoffed. "Almost two weeks later? Definitely."

"Good, that would make a terrible lunch." It didn't matter, he reminded himself.

She tightened her grip on his hands. "Oh yeah? What do _you_ think makes a good lunch?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You know what? I can just ask Luke." She moved a little closer and went on, "Just don't try to be a hero. Dad wrote a big check once, and everyone stopped knitting."

Tristan furrowed his brows. "You lost me." They were just about pressed up against each other.

She shook her head, like she was getting confused herself. "Sorry, that was a different event. We have so many. I wasn't even at that one," she said. "So what do you think?"

That he probably only had tonight and she was talking too much. He titled his head down and she parted her lips right before they met his. He pulled her shirt up over her head and kissed her again, lifting her thighs so he could take her to his bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory woke up the next morning in a semi-aroused state. She was on her side and Tristan was kissing along her collarbone. She sighed a little and moved closer to him, wrapping her left leg around him. She loved the way his kisses felt and loved the way his hands roamed over her body and loved—him? That would be something to ponder when her head was less foggy.

She would have told him not to stop, except it seemed like he was never going to. She eased back, pulling him over her so he could settle in where she wanted him. She wrapped her other leg around him as he pushed into her. He muttered her name into her neck as they worked together until they reached their peak.

After they'd caught their breath and she'd loosened her grip of his arms, Tristan rolled to his back, taking her with him so she was draped over half his body and her legs intertwined with his. He apparently took cuddling very seriously, as he hadn't let her go all night, instead keeping a firm hold on her. She didn't fall back asleep, even though she was exhausted and the bed was comfortable. Not that it got used for much sleeping that night. She angled her feet up, pointing her toes as far up as they could, stretching the calves of her legs.

The sun wasn't quite up yet, but it was going to be a nice day. The rain had stopped. Everything had seemed so finished yesterday, but the gloom was gone today. Maybe everyone could start with a clean slate now. She snuggled in closer to Tristan, her arm resting on his chest, his around her waist.

At one point during the night, she had traced the tattoo on his arm and asked what it meant.

In the moon light, she could see his eyes shift to the ceiling. "The oak leaves symbolize a corps. There're two, like the scales of justice."

He hadn't been very talkative beyond that. She thought she had heard him whisper 'I'm sorry' a couple times, but she must have dreamt that.

Rory sighed and thought about all the editing work she hadn't accomplished in the past two days. It would have been nice if she could stay here longer. She put her hand on his arm. He was resistant, but she freed herself and crawled out from under the blanket. She looked around the floor for her clothes, locating it on Tristan's side. She had to turn her shirt right side out before putting it on. She slipped on her shoes last and returned to the side of the bed.

She bent over to give Tristan a long kiss before lifting her head to look at him. He had a hold on her arm like he was going to pull her back into the bed. She said, "I have two days' worth of editing to catch up on. And you have to get ready for work." His grip loosened to trail down her arm as she stood. She stopped when she reached the door to tell him good bye, but he spoke before she could.

"I'm leaving."

"No, it's your house," Rory said. "So I'm the one who has to go."

He shook his head slightly. "I have to leave for Japan next Tuesday."

Slowly, she asked, "For work?"

"To work. To live," he said.

Details. Answers. She didn't get them yesterday, and she didn't want them now. Maybe she was jumping to the wrong conclusion. "What?"

He finally looked over. "U.S. Fleet Activities Yokosuka," he said, leaving nothing to mistake.

She felt heavier, or wilted inside. She frowned and knit her brows, crossing her arms over her body. She was unable to conjure up any words. She stood dumfounded for a few seconds before blinking rapidly and numbly turning to go.


	14. XIV

**Story: **Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **I don't have a good excuse for taking longer with this chapter. I'm going to put up more notes on my LJ.

**XIV**

"Everyone has their seats filled except Beatrice Atwater," Emily said. "She insisted she could fill three tables on her own."

It was such a nice day, Emily decided they should have drinks and appetizers out on the patio before dinner. Rory had followed her mother through the house a little while earlier, with barely a word of greeting or a smile. She was sitting on the other side of the table, with her chin in her hand as she gazed out into the distance, her drink untouched.

Emily continued her story, "I don't know what she was trying to prove, everyone else claimed two. If she was trying to show off, she failed."

"That bitch."

"Lorelai," Emily scolded.

"What? I assumed that was the response you were going for."

Emily shook her head. "Anyway, a few of us had to come up with more guests. So." She looked at her daughter pointedly.

"_So_," Lorelai said, leaning on the word.

"I need you and Rory to come to the benefit."  
>"I'm busy that night," Lorelai said, taking a sip of her martini.<p>

"I haven't mentioned what night it is."

"What night is it?"  
>"This Thursday."<p>

Lorelai clicked her tongue. "See? I have plans."

"Doing what?"

"I have to go to a—a thing."

"A thing?" Emily asked, nonplussed. "It sounds important."

"It is—it's a town thing. Everyone will be there, so I can't miss it," Lorelai said. "If I do, the whole town will be talking about it—"

"The thing."

"Yes, but I'll be out of the loop. I just can't do that to my town, they depend on me."

Warily, Emily turned. "What about you Rory? Do you have an important thing you have to attend?"

Her granddaughter didn't respond, nor did she give any other indication she'd heard.

"Rory," Lorelai said, louder.

Rory looked over, startled. "What?"

"Can you come this Thursday evening?" Emily asked.

"Come where?" Rory asked slowly. "Here?"

Emily remained patient as she said, "No, to a fundraising event. There will be a dinner."

"When is it?"  
>"Thursday," Lorelai said, annunciating the information that had already been given. "She has two seats to fill." She glanced at Emily with a half-smile, then looked back at her daughter. "Since I can't make it, you should bring a date. If you can think of someone."<p>

Rory stared at her for a second. Her brows moved closer together before she looked over to Emily and shook her head. "I can't make it. Sorry." She crossed her arms and turned away again to stare at the flower bed.

Emily and Lorelai frowned at her for a moment, then Emily went on, "The banquet hall is supposed to be full. The staff there doesn't like to rent out the space when it's half empty."

"Don't be a pessimist," Lorelai said. "The glass is half full. And it's only a few seats at one table, no one will notice."

Emily frowned in disapproval. Lorelai just didn't understand how these things worked.  
>Rory turned back to them abruptly. "Grandma, what happened to the tulips you planted here?" she asked, pointing to a place in the dirt.<p>

Emily craned her neck to see the empty patch. "Oh. I had to pull the bulbs out."

"Why?" Rory asked. "Were they dying? Didn't you water them?"

"Of course I did. But there was a vine nearby that got a little out of control. When I trimmed it back the tulips had to go with it."

"So you just ripped them out?" Rory asked, distressed. "Did you even give them a chance?"

"Yes. Don't worry," Emily said reassuringly. "I'll plant something else there. Lilies, they'll look even better."

"I don't want lilies. You asked what I wanted and I said tulips," Rory protested. "Did you think you could just stick something else in, like I wouldn't know the difference?"

Sardonically, Lorelai asked, "Would you?"

Emily was taken aback.

Ignoring her mother, Rory continued, "Don't you care what I want? Why did you bother asking if you were just going to do whatever _you_ wanted?" She got up and walked to the house.

The other two women watched her go, puzzled by the outburst. Emily turned to Lorelai to ask, "What's wrong with her?"

Lorelai frowned at the house as she answered, "I have no idea."

"Is she jet lagged? Did she just get it?"  
>"No. She's been home all week, just editing, I think," Lorelai said. "We didn't get a chance to talk much before we came over tonight. I only had time to change when I got home and then we left." After a pause, Lorelai said musingly, "Wait a minute. She rode with me."<br>"You were coming from the same place."

"Yeah, but last week she wanted to drive separate."

"You didn't come last week."

"I know, but Rory was planning to come, and she was going to drive separate so she could—uh—"

Emily narrowed her eyes. "So she could what?" she asked, as though she didn't know the answer.

Evasively, Lorelai stood up and said, "Uh, race home. I'll go talk to her."  
>Emily took a sip of her drink and looked over at the flower bed. It was just tulips, for goodness sake. She stood and went to the house, listening for voices when she was inside.<p>

"Marco," she heard Lorelai say on her way up the front set of stairs.

Emily went to the drink cart to freshen her martini when the maid came to tell her dinner was ready. Emily headed up the stairs walked down the long hall. She stopped when she reached Rory's room, where Lorelai had already found her. A sliver of lamp light escaped from the crack where the door wasn't all the way shut.

Lorelai was rambling about flowers. "A few weeks ago at the inn, the wrong flowers were delivered for a wedding and the bride had a fit. It was like I singled handedly destroyed her wedding by signing for the wrong flowers," she explained. "So I can understand how you'd be upset over tulips if that's what you had your heart set on."

Peeking through the crack, Emily could just make out Lorelai as she took a seat on the bed, where Rory was huddled up against the pillows.

"What's going on?" Lorelai asked gently.

"Nothing," Rory muttered.

"You just suddenly took a personal interest in the flora around here?"  
>Rory didn't respond.<p>

"I noticed you didn't come home last night," Lorelai said. "And tonight you didn't want to drive separate. Does one have anything to do with the other?"

Again, there was a long pause.

Lorelai finally stopped beating around the bush and asked, "You don't want to go over to Tristan's house after dinner tonight?"

Tonelessly, Rory said, "He has to go."

"Go where?"

"The other side of the world." A few seconds ticked by. "The Navy called him back. He has to go be a military lawyer again in Japan."  
>"Oh, I'm so sorry."<p>

Emily felt like a weight was lifted. At long last, this was over. Rory could move on and find someone else. Francine wouldn't get what she wanted after all. They could put this behind them. And Rory was strong, she would easily get over this.

After Lorelai made a few inquiries about Tristan's departure, Emily knocked on the door. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but dinner is ready when if you'd like to come down."

Rory sat up straighter and turned her back to Emily to wipe at her cheeks.

"We'll be right down," Lorelai said, her hand on Rory's arm.

Emily headed back downstairs, leaving the girls to follow. She went to the dining room and had a seat at the end of the table. A couple minutes later, the girls joined her. Rory's face was a little blotchy.

When their food was served, she said, "You can plant anything you want Grandma. Sorry for the freak out."

"That's quite all right," Emily said. Rory would be fine, she thought, they just needed to distract her tonight. Things would be back to normal soon. "What have you been up to lately? You haven't posted anything on your blog in a while."

"I've just been editing," Rory answered, still somber. "There's a new editor at one of the papers I write for. I'm supposed to do a story about the Gaza strip for her, but I'd have to leave tomorrow." She lightly tapped her fork on her plate. "I don't know if I'm going to do it, though. It's so soon, and I don't know when I'd get back."

Emily felt another weight lift. Tonight was turning into a wonderful evening. "That's probably a good idea, it's so dangerous over there," she said.

Rory looked up at her, eyes concerned. "What do you mean?"

Lorelai chimed in, "She means the Middle East isn't known for being peaceful."  
>Emily ate a Brussels sprout and added, "There's always so much violence going on there. I just like to know you're safe. Some of those places you go." She shook her head and said, "I breathe easier when you get back home."<p>

Rory looked upset again. "You can't breathe when I'm away?"

"I wouldn't say it quite like that," Emily said, now wishing she'd picked a different topic. "You're careful when you travel, aren't you?"  
>"Yes," Rory said. "I mean, I try." She frowned down at her plate unhappily.<p>

"So there's nothing to worry about." Emily turned to her daughter and quickly changed the subject, "Lorelai, tell me, how are things at the inn?"

"Great, Sookie invented a new dessert this week."

"That sounds delicious," Emily said, seizing the safer topic with gusto. "What does she put in it?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On Sunday morning, Tristan walked through the back door of his parents' house. He made his way down the hall and stopped at his father's study, knocking first.

"Come in," Mason said from inside.

Tristan went in, glancing around at the room. Bookshelves lined the back wall, and Mason's large imposing desk loomed in a corner. This was his favorite room of the house. At least, that's the conclusion Tristan came to a long time age. Mason got home from work every night and came straight in here until the maid let him know dinner was ready. Tristan was less fond of the study.

"You wanted to see me," he said as he sat in the chair facing the older man. It was the same chair he'd been assigned whenever he'd get into trouble when he was younger. The chair used to dwarf him, making him feel small in front of the desk, where his father would solemnly sit. It wasn't as daunting now.

"Yes," Mason said. "I need to talk to you before you go Tuesday."

Tristan rested his cheek against his fist. "About what?"

"The future. After you resign from the Navy you're going to go work at Donald Feingold's firm."

Tristan didn't say anything at first. "What? Why?" To a lesser extent, he also wanted to ask who.

"I want to merge his firm."

Tristan blinked. "Since when?"

"I was looking into it recently," Mason answered.

Tristan lifted a hand in protest as he asked, "Are you just going to take over all the smaller firms in Hartford until you have a monopoly?"

"No. I just want to add one more. Donald's firm specializes in patents. So whenever you get back, you're going to work there."

"Oh am I?"

"Yes."

"I can't work at a patent office," Tristan said flatly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know a whole lot about patent law, for one."

"You'll learn."

"I didn't study international affairs for five years to practice patent law," Tristan argued. "And you don't need _me_ to do anything." He was the one to say he'd work at Straub's firm. The whole thing was a big deal to Mason. He was supposed to depend on Tristan, not a random associate around here.

Mason paused a second as he looked at Tristan. "Are you upset about something?"

"Getting upset never changes anything." Tristan averted his gaze for a second, then looked back. "Just get somebody else to be your whipping boy."

"No," Mason said. "You're going to do it. So make sure you turn in your resignation on time."

Tristan's brows furrowed slightly. "The Navy doesn't have to accept it."

"Then you'll make a call to Washington and make it happen."

Tristan shook his head a little. "I don't want to work at a different firm when I get back. I'd rather stay where I am."

"I don't need you there anymore," his father said without hesitation.

Tristan almost flinched.

"You were only there for a few months," Mason continued. "You didn't get attached because of its family association, did you?"

Tristan was silent for a moment. He hadn't heard from Rory. He needed to tell her good bye at some point, since neither had said it before she left his house. He tried to remember what that contract had said. Was there a specific story she was supposed to cover? He'd been too distracted when he read it. He had no idea if she was still in the country.

He gave his head a mental shake and evasively answered his father, "I don't want to be that guy who goes into firms before you swallow them up. They'll think I'm casing the place for you."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. This might not happen for four years. That's a significant amount of time," Mason said. "Everyone will have forgotten about all this. They'll have moved on."

Tristan clenched his jaw. It'll be like nothing happened. "You finally got Straub's firm, why do you even want another one? Do really need more clients?"

Mason didn't answer immediately. When he did, he said, "I've heard rumors. Not all the associates like their current situation. They might happier working for someone else." Contemplatively, he added, "If it's true, then I should get the results I expect if I say the right thing."

Tristan stared at his father and deadpanned, "What the hell are you talking about?" The old man must have cracked, he thought. He muttered, "Why don't you just move into your office, it can finally be your official residence."

Mason opened his mouth, but closed it. Not deterred by Tristan's objections, he said, "I want to get moving on this as soon as you get back. So make sure you resign on time so you can get right to work."

Tristan wasn't a small child—or stupid—he didn't need Mason to repeat himself so many times. "Who said I was definitely going to resign?"

"You came to me and said working as a judge advocate for eight years would give you good career experience," Mason said. "I agreed, understanding you would quit when that time was up. It sounded reasonable."

Four more years, Tristan thought for the hundredth time. It could be four years before he came back. Everyone will have moved on. "I might want to renegotiate in four years."

"We don't have to wait that long, we'll do it right now," Mason said evenly. "You're resigning." He watched Tristan for a moment as he considered his next words. "You like what you do here, so you're going to keep doing it in a different office."

Tristan recoiled and said, "I do not like it." And continuing no longer seemed worth it. "I will resign—from this job," he said, getting up from the chair before his father could try another argument.

Mason, however, did not. Instead, he sat back in his chair and said, "Put it in writing."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next evening, Rory was in her room, propped against the pillows on her bed reading a book. Staring at an open book was more like it. She had to go back to reread the page she was on four times before she was able to move on. She kept glancing over at the clock anxiously. The seconds were ticking their way closer to Tuesday and she couldn't stop them.

She tore her eyes away from the clock and back to her book. She finally read an entire page without multiple attempts when her phone buzzed on the bed next to her. She sat her book on her lap so she could check the caller ID. Her heart sped up. "Hello?"

"Hey," Tristan said. There was a pause, and Rory wondered if it was her turn to say something, but he went on, "Are you at home? I wasn't sure if you were somewhere on an assignment."

"No," she said. "I could have, but I didn't. I just didn't feel like going this time."

"Oh, well, I wanted to tell you good bye before I leave. We didn't really—Friday."

"Sorry," she said. Her palms were getting a little sweaty. "I didn't know what to say."

Another pause. "Have you thought of anything?"

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and tried to control her voice to say, "No."

"I wish I didn't have to go," he said. Before Rory could form the words 'then don't' or 'me too', he continued, "But I knew it could happen."

"Right," she said. "We both knew." She didn't know how much she'd hate it though. Afraid he'd get to the good bye, she asked, "Is someone taking you to the airport tomorrow?"  
>"Grandpa," Tristan answered.<p>

"Good."

"I'm at his house now. He had my parents over for dinner. Dad wanted to know what I'd be doing in the offices in Japan."

"That makes sense, he loves work stuff."

"His work," Tristan corrected. "He asked about mine."

"Really? That's good." Rory's spirits lifted slightly.

"Uh . . . yeah, I guess. It was weird, I didn't think he'd talk to me considering I—he and I," Tristan stammered. More firmly, he said, "I don't know what's up with him lately. I think he's going through something."

Rory hoped so. She didn't think Mason had cared about anything she'd said. Perhaps she'd gotten through to him after all.

She kicked herself for not having anything worthwhile to say. She wondered if Tristan would call her when he was living in Japan. Or if she'd ever be nearby for a story—stories took her everywhere. But maybe he wouldn't be interested in that. They'd still be living on different sides of the world. There was long distance, and there was _long_ distance.

Rory played with the edge of the bedspread as a silent minute stretched between them. Her heart was beating too hard.

Finally, Tristan said, "It's getting late. I should let you go. I have an early flight—four in the morning."

"Oh, yeah, okay," she said. "Thanks for calling."

There was one last pause, then, "Bye Rory."

The lump returned and she quickly forced it down. "Bye."

She sat the phone next to her and she swiped at the corner of her eye before she picked her book back up. She returned to the page she was on and tried to continue, but couldn't. Whatever closure saying good bye was supposed to bring, made her feel worse. She went back to glancing at her clock every few minutes as though she was a kid staying up to watch the New Year's ball drop, but without the enthusiasm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan was at the airport with his grandfather early the next morning. Janlen accompanied him as far as he could, before Tristan stopped to face him. They shook hands and said their final good byes before he continued through the airport, going through security and then finding his gate. He sat his carryon in the seat next to him—he was planning on changing during a layover, before he got to the base.

He sat down and watched the other passengers go by. There were business people walking briskly to their flights, families heading out on vacation. As for the less obvious travelers, he was left wondering if they were coming or going. Was Hartford their home or was it a place they visited?

It'd turned into nothing but a visit for Tristan.

He checked his watch and saw he still had enough time before his flight to contemplate how screwed up his life got in a matter of days. He wished he could blame someone, but the target only fell on him. He was the master of his fate no matter how he looked at it.

As he watched the people passing by, a familiar face hurried through the crowd. His heart lurched with joy and depression simultaneously—similar to what it did when he first saw her at Francine's a couple months ago. Tristan stood, which caught Rory's attention. She made her way over, looking frazzled.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her, looking down at a ticket in her hand.

"I couldn't sleep at all. You're just—you're leaving. And—," she said, showing him what she had in her hand, "I had to buy a ticket and take off my shoes to get this far. But a phone good bye isn't a proper good bye and . . ." She trailed off, looking helpless. After a silent beat, she asked, "Do you know how long you'll be gone?"

He shook his head. "No. It could be four years." Or longer, but he couldn't bring himself to say that part out loud. Why did she have to come here in the first place? One good bye was hard enough.

"Years?" she asked, shoulders dropping. "So, it's just—that's it?" She was blinking quickly, holding back tears.

"It is if I don't want to risk a court-martial," he said. "I'm not romantic enough for that."

Her brows knit as she continued to struggle with reality.

In a half-hearted effort to cheer her up, he said, "It's midnight Cinderella. Time to go back to your real life—the one where I don't exist. You'll be fine, you did it before."

It didn't work, she still looked miserable. She actually liked him enough to be upset over this. Maybe it would be easier on her if she knew they never would have worked, Tristan thought. She obviously didn't realize he couldn't handle what she did for a living. She'd remained more optimistic than him, so she might not believe him if he tried to tell her. He checked his watch. The plane would be boarding soon, so that ruled out any lengthy explanations.

She'd taken his leaving better when they were younger. And why wouldn't she, he mused, she could barely tolerate him. His departure was good news back then. This would be so much easier if she hated him again. She was going to move on, he knew, better sooner than later. He'd managed to get her to like him, how could he undo it?

He blurted, "I lied."

"What?"

"I lied," he said again. "After dinner that night at Francine's."

"Lied about what?" she asked, slow frown overtaking her features. People continued to shuffle through the airport, but neither of them paid attention to anything going on around them.

"I said I wasn't interested, but I was."

"Interested in what?"

"You. I mean, I really wasn't interested in Francine's granddaughter, but that changed when she walked into the room," he said. "I wanted you to like me this time, so I had to lie and pretend I didn't care."

Rory shifted to her other foot and crossed her arms, the plane ticket tucked at her side. "You _had_ to lie?"

Good, Tristan thought, it was working. He answered, "Yes."

"Being honest just wasn't an option?"

"It might have been if you were anyone else," he said. "Or if I was anyone else."

"So it's _my_ fault you had to lie?" she asked incredulously, a glare setting in. An announcement was made, informing everyone the flight was boarding. People around them started getting up and forming a line.

"You wouldn't have given me the time of day if I hadn't," Tristan said.

"You don't know that," she said, clearly deluding herself into believing she'd ever been open-minded about him.

He scoffed. "Yes I do. It's happened before. I thought, maybe if I was the one who wasn't interested, it would bother you." He inclined his head slightly. "And it did."

"So you conned me?"

"It was some harmless reverse psychology," he said. Then he couldn't stop himself from adding, "But then I felt guilty so I stopped."

"Congratulations," Rory said sardonically, not caring about his defense and not concerned with the line he needed to join. "I guess manipulating me was worth it. You got what you wanted just in the nick of time."

Tristan stared at her for a moment and he crossed his arms. "What do you think I wanted?" He too, ignored the other passengers and the second announcement. "Don't answer that. I can figure it out."

She definitely wasn't sad anymore, so it was a perfectly good place to stop.

"You think I got what I wanted?" he asked rhetorically. "If you somehow forgot, I have a house. Even if _you_ can't spit the words out, you know who I plan to 'let live there'. And now it doesn't even matter that the only girl who's been in it—the only one I want in it at this point—doesn't have a life, because I have to go to Japan for the foreseeable future."

The line to board the plane was down to the last few people. He grabbed his carryon from the chair and turned to give her a dirty look as he sarcastically said, "If that's what I wanted, then I guess I can leave happy."

They scowled at each other one last time before stalking away, going their separate ways.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In her bedroom, Rory sat at her desk, typing on her laptop. When she heard a knock at the door, she said, "Come in." She didn't turn away from her screen or stop what she was doing as her mother walked into the room and took a seat on the bed.

"Hey," Lorelai said. "I saw your door was shut and a light was shining out from under it, so I knew you were home."

"I got in today," Rory said, still focusing on her screen.

"We haven't talked in forever," her mother said.

"I've been busy." Her fingers continued to click-clack over the keyboard.

"Yes, for two weeks straight. Busy editing, busy blogging, busy writing, busy riding the train. Rinse, lather, repeat."

"It's called work. It's what I do." Rory finally took a break from typing, but didn't remove her eyes from the screen as scrolled down the page.

After a pause, Lorelai slowly asked, "Do you want to talk about anything?"

"Like what?"

"Anything. I'm open to all subjects."

"If you want to talk, then talk," Rory said.

"Okay, let's see," Lorelai said, looking around a bit. "Oh, so last weekend, during the basket sale—"

Rory glowered as her mother continued.

"—Kirk bid for Eastside Tilly's basket. And everyone was wondering why, because she's already taken. But Taylor just let Kirk go ahead and buy his girlfriend's basket."

Rory muttered, "Maybe because they aren't a couple."

"That's exactly what we started to think, but after all the baskets were sold, Taylor wanted to go on the picnic with Tilly—it was their arrangement, but Kirk wouldn't hand over the basket. So Taylor chased Kirk around town. Of course, after all the running, most of the food fell from the basket."

"Great story," Rory said flatly. "I guess they're a couple after all. Mystery solved."

"I was actually going to say Taylor and Kirk might be the real couple," Lorelai said.

Rory mumbled, "So everyone has someone to go home to. Got it."

Neither of them said anything for a couple minutes. Rory hoped her mother would take a hint and go on with her business. But Lorelai slowly asked, "Do you think now would be a good time to address the abrupt departure of your militant lover?"

Rory turned then to glare at her mother. "What? He isn't—you don't know what militant means, do you?"

"It's an adjective to describe a person in the military."

"No," Rory retorted.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I have several dictionaries lying around here. You're welcome to borrow one."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lorelai said unconvincingly. "So are you ready to talk about it?"

"Tristan was here and now he isn't. That's all there is to say about it," Rory said, turning back to her laptop. However, her concentration did not come with her.

"Don't you think you should slow down for like, five minutes and wallow?"

"No," Rory said. "Wallowing is for breakups. A breakup happens at the end of a relationship. I was not in a relationship."

"You were on the verge of one though—"

"No I wasn't."

"—you got emotionally invested."

"I'm busy working," Rory said. "Even if there was something to get over—and there isn't—working does the job. I don't have time to think about it." And if she didn't let herself think of him, maybe the recurring dream she'd been having would stop.

"That's called bottling it up, and it's not what you do," Lorelai said. "You talk things out eventually. Or at least blog." She crossed her arms and furrowed her brows. "You were sad two weeks ago. When did it turn into a bad mood?"

Rory didn't respond as she noisily hit backspace key a few times. Lorelai didn't move from the bed, waiting for an answer. Finally, Rory turned and explained how she'd gone to the airport to see Tristan before he left. Without mentioning his final words, she ended with, "And it's _my_ fault he tricked me—_had_ to trick me."

There was a silent beat. Lorelai asked, "Was that the only lie?"

Rory gave her mother an exasperated look. "He deliberately manipulated me. You hate manipulators."

"I do, but—"

"There is no but!"

"Well, what about when you like someone, and you play hard to get at first—you're interested, but you pretend not to be. Is that lying?"

"Yes," Rory said. "I can't believe you're taking his side."

"I'm not," Lorelai assured her. "I haven't forgotten how he wronged me."

Rory narrowed her eyes. "Wronged you?"

"He compared me to Emily. That's a serious offense." Rory continued to glare as Lorelai slowly said, "Can I ask a question?"

Rory turned back to her laptop again. "If you must."

"You have to answer honestly."

"Were you even listening to what I just said?"

"Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure," Lorelai said. "If Tristan asked you to, say, dinner and a movie—you know, a date—after you saw him at Francine's, what would your answer have been?"

"He didn't ask, so we'll never know."

"We kind of know," Lorelai argued. "You came straight home and said he was bad news. You didn't want anything to do with him. Don't you remember?"

Rory stared at her. "You think I had to be tricked," she said, shaking her head. "I can't believe this."

"I'm just reminding you of what you said when you saw him. If I'd never met him, I'd have thought he was the James Spader to your Molly Ringwald."

"That's accurate."

Lorelai made a sound indicating her disagreement. The she asked musingly, "Why did he bother confessing at the last minute anyway?"  
>"Because he's an ass, and always has been. I guess he wanted to brag," Rory said, again pushing the rest of his last minute speech to the edge of her thoughts. "So I'm not about to cry over him."<p>

"Fine, if that's what you want," Lorelai said, obviously not happy about it.

"It's what I want." Rory pretended to keep working and wished she had more privacy. She could only do so much to escape her mother's questions when they lived under the same roof.

"What have you been writing about?" Lorelai asked, finally changing the subject.

"Just domestic politics. I've only been to Washington D.C." Rory hadn't left the country in a few weeks. When the opportunity came up, she'd passed. She picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. When she stopped, she turned to ask, "Do you have trouble breathing when I'm away? Or is it just Grandma?"

"You're doing what you always wanted to do, so I'm happy if you are."

"You completely avoided the question. I'm not happy if you're back here worrying all the time," Rory said. "Do you hate it?"

"I don't _hate_ it. How can I hate something when you've worked so hard for it?"

"Because it isn't always safe," Rory said. "And you're my mom, so you probably don't want anything bad to happen to me."

"I am kind of obligated to love you," Lorelai said wryly.

Rory flinched at her mother's word choice.

"It's really okay though."

"But what's my long term plan?" Rory asked, looking around. "Live in my childhood bedroom forever so I can sow my wild oats, all the while leaving you and Grandma sitting on edge, hoping I come back alive? I can't keep doing that to you."

"Hey, it's okay," Lorelai said again, like it was her defense mechanism. "You can stay as long as you like."

Rory looked at her wide eyed. "Why? I'm an adult. I should have adult things, like my own place to live." She added, "I can't stay in Neverland forever."

"Does that make me Tinkerbell?" Lorelai mused. Getting serious again, she asked, "So what are you going to do?"  
>Rory rested her elbows on her desk and rubbed her face. "I don't know. Maybe I should get a job, one where I don't have to do everything myself."<p>

"Whatever you want to do, I support you," Lorelai said as she stood up.

Rory looked at her warily. "Really? Or are you just saying that?"

"I mean it. I want you to be happy, and if what you're doing now doesn't make you happy anymore, I want you to find something else," Lorelai said, opening the door.

"Thanks," Rory said. She turned back to her computer and rested her face against her palm. The world was her oyster, as it always had been. The thought neither scared nor excited her.


	15. XV

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Thanks for reading and reviewing! There're only two more chapters (not counting this one) before the epilogue.

**XV**

Rory woke up with a start. She looked around the room, trying to remember where she was. She saw her desk and recognized her bedspread. She'd spent so much time in hotels over the years, she sometimes started her day figuring out where she was. The past couple weeks, the travel was for job interviews. She'd gone on a few. She sighed and rolled over, blinking a few times and registered it was evening.

She'd had that stupid dream again. It probably couldn't qualify as recurring, exactly, since it kept changing a little each time. At first she could see Tristan and a faceless woman. The next time they had a child. Rory was a silent observer, just watching someone else's life. More recently, there was another kid. Tristan looked happy enough in these dreams. So, bully for him, Rory thought. The dream was different this week, but she couldn't put her finger on it what it was. Tristan and the faceless woman's brood didn't grow anymore, so Rory wasn't sure what had changed. If she dwelled on it for too long, a lump formed in her throat. So she resolved not to think about it as she sat up.

Her room had a few boxes sitting on the floor. She'd been packing up her books. She didn't have a job or her own place to live yet, but she was getting ready, none the less. Her first job after college had started abruptly, she wanted to be ready if something similar happened. She went to her closet and pulled out a box. She opened it to find old school work. She couldn't believe it was still around. Maybe the work should go in her shrine, she thought dryly. She shoved the box back in the closet and walked out of her room. She followed the sound of the television coming from the living room.

"Hey," Lorelai said, looking up. "You were sleeping when I got home, and I didn't want to wake you."

Rory sat down on the couch as her mother flipped through the channels, stopping at the evening news. They listened to a report about a Hartford license bureau, but after a minute, Lorelai changed the channel.

Rory turned to her, frowning. "Hey."

"What?"

"She was in the middle of her report."

"So? Her story was boring," Lorelai said. She nodded toward the television. "Here's a different reporter. Let's see if she has something more interesting to say."

Rory argued, "The other reporter probably didn't get to decide what she was going to do. It isn't her fault she got a story about driver's license renewals."

"I'm sorry," Lorelai said, pointing the remote at the television. "I'll turn it back."

Rory continued, "She probably worked really hard on it too, and you just turned the channel on her—just replaced her. I bet she's missing dinner with her family to do this report. And they're the ones who can't replace her."

Lorelai stared. "Look at her," she said, pointing to the young reporter with shiny brown hair and a trendy outfit. "She's like twenty-four. She probably doesn't even have a family."

"And she never will if she doesn't slow down long enough to have a life," Rory muttered.

"Then she'll get a bunch of cats. She'll be fine," Lorelai said reassuringly.

Rory gave her mother an incredulous look. "That's not funny."

"Uh, sorry," Lorelai said. Somewhat timidly, she asked, "So, how are your interviews going?"

Still frowning, Rory answered, "The_ Boston Herald_ interview went okay, I guess. But I don't know if I want to live in Boston."

"Not a big Red Sox fan?" Lorelai asked absentmindedly. Then she gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"About what?" Rory asked stiffly.

"I didn't mean remind you of anything . . . or anyone."

Rory stared. "Who?"

Lorelai stared back for a second. "No one."

"The editor at the _News Journal_ in Delaware was nice," Rory said. "But I didn't really like the newsroom. It was all grey with its tiny cubicles and florescent lighting. It was depressing."

"A lot of journalism jobs will probably involve a newsroom," Lorelai reasoned.

"I know," Rory said. "But their only opening was in sports anyway, so it doesn't even matter."

"What about the _Hartford Courant_, are they hiring?"

"No."

"Oh. So you might not have a choice but to move away."

Rory shrugged. "Maybe. I applied to some news stations too. Broadcast journalism . . . I've been told my stories done on video are better than my articles."

"Who told you that?"

Rory crossed her arms as she stared at the television. "Why? You don't agree?"

"No. I was just wondering who said it."

"No one."

"Okay," Lorelai said slowly. "Didn't you interview for an editor position in Woodbridge?"

"Yeah," Rory said with a sigh. "But I don't know. Editors work a lot of hours."

"What else do you have to do?" Lorelai asked.

Rory shifted her eyes to her mother slowly.

"Sorry," Lorelai said.

Rory let it slide and went on, "I didn't hear back from the _Chicago Tribune_ or the _LA Times_. And I sent an inquiry letter to the _Atlanta Constitution-Journal_, but I don't think I want to go there."

"Why not?"

Rory shrugged again. "I don't feel like living in Georgia. I guess I'm just not much of a southern belle."

"You've gotten really picky," Lorelai commented.

"No I haven't."

"Yes you have. You don't even have any lists going. You're just brushing off places for vague non-reasons."

"Sometimes you just know. And with those places, I know I don't want to go there."

"Then why did you apply?"

"Because I'm looking for a job and want options," Rory said, exasperated. After a moment's pause, she hesitantly said, "I don't think my interview at Newport, Rhode Island's local CBS affiliate went very well."

"How come?"

"I didn't know all the answers. They . . . they wanted to know where I see myself in five years, and I didn't know what to say."

"That's an easy one," Lorelai said. "You're supposed to say you'll be employed at their company, working your way up the ladder."

"But I didn't see myself working there in five years," Rory said. "I couldn't just lie."

"Sure you could. It's called fake it till you make it."

"I've been reporting the news for eight years, I shouldn't be faking it. If I am, maybe it's a sign I shouldn't be doing it."

"All right," Lorelai said. "So where do you see yourself in five years?"

"If I knew, I'd have given them an answer," Rory said, agitated.

Five years seemed like forever, and the thought of endless work stretching before her wasn't as appealing as it used to be. Instead of living her own life, she was constantly reacting to other people's. And it was often the end of their lives. Continuing this way sounded not only exhausting, but depressing. People turned off the news because it was negative. Articles ended up in tomorrow's trash. Rory didn't feel like she was making much of a difference. If she didn't cover a story, another reporter would do the job. Everyone was expendable.

"You'll think of something," Lorelai said confidently, though unhelpfully. Slowly, she asked, "Does your inability to choose a job have anything to do with that reporter's future cat family?"  
>Rory shrugged and shook her head, uncommitted.<p>

Apparently afraid of offending Rory, Lorelai carefully said, "If you want, we could get some ice cream and watch some sad movies tonight. Maybe even cry a little, if we feel like it."

Not oblivious to what her mother was suggesting, Rory resoundingly said, "No."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few nights later, Emily was in the living room having drinks with Rory and Lorelai. She opted to have drinks inside this evening—it seemed safer. It pleased her to see Rory engaging in conversation this evening.

From her place on the couch next to Lorelai, Rory asked, "So, it's your neighbor's nephew who's coming tonight?"

"That's right," Emily said, turning from the drink cart and sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace.

"Who? What?" Lorelai asked, looking from Emily to Rory.

"My neighbor's nephew," Emily said. "He's home visiting from New Hampshire."

"Great," Lorelai said. "But why is he coming here for dinner? Wouldn't he rather have dinner with his own family while he's visiting?"

"There's nothing wrong with me having a nice young man over for dinner, Lorelai."

"I know, Mom. I'm just wondering why you're being so generous. I mean, isn't it a little _soon_?" Lorelai asked pointedly.

"It's fine," Rory said after she took a sip of her martini. "Grandma asked me if it would be all right if he joined us, and I said it was."

"Oh really," Lorelai said. She eyed her daughter warily before looking back at Emily. "I don't get a vote around here?"

"I didn't think you'd have a problem with it," Emily said. When the doorbell chimed, she said, "There he is now." She got up and walked to the foyer, ignoring Lorelai as she whispered in protest to Rory. Emily met her guest, who was a tall man with jet black hair. He was wearing a very fine black suit with a crisp white shirt. They exchanged pleasantries and she inquired about his parents before she led him into the living room.

"This is Ethan Chase," Emily told the other two women. "He's an architect."

"Oh, that sounds exciting," Rory said, smiling politely.

Emily turned to Ethan. "Rory's a journalist—"

"But I'm between jobs right now," Rory interjected.

"Yes, but we're sure she'll get scooped up in no time," Emily said. She made Lorelai get up to make room for Ethan, but her daughter didn't sit on the other couch. She stood with her arms crossed, frowning at Emily. As Rory and Ethan embarked in small talk, Emily went to make him a drink. When she was finished, Lorelai was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"You can sit."

"Actually," Lorelai said, pointing toward the entrance. "Could I just talk to you out in the hall for a minute?" She grabbed Emily's arm.

"All right, you don't have to yank my arm off," Emily said as she followed Lorelai to the foyer. "What is it?"

"Really Mom?" Lorelai asked. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Do you really think it's such a good idea to set Rory up again so soon?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I can invite anyone I want over for dinner. And since you're so concerned, I asked her if she wanted to meet someone, and she said yes."

"But Tristan only left a few weeks ago."

"So? She's fine," Emily said, peeking into the living room. "You should be fine too."

"She isn't fine, she's avoiding the issue completely," Lorelai said. "That isn't fine, it's denial. She refuses to wallow."

Emily looked back at Lorelai. "What is wallow?"

"It's where you take time to be sad about losing someone."

"That's called grieving, and you do it when someone you love died," Emily said sternly. "No one died."

"Well when you end a relationship, you have to mourn what you lost—or at least acknowledge it—so you can move on."

"Rory was not in a relationship, Lorelai."

"Ugh, you sound just like her. Even you know _something_ happened." Lorelai sighed in frustration. The she gasped. "Wait. Maybe that's it. He's the one that got away."

"_Tristan Dugray_ is not the one that got away—"

"Obviously not for _you_."

"—and he only went away," Emily finished. "Honestly, I don't know how you could say something so preposterous. Rory will be fine. She's gotten over boys before. She can certainly do it again."

"This time it's a man," Lorelai pointed out. "And she's older now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Lorelai lifted her brows. "What do you think I mean?" She strolled back into the living room.

This was her idea of a joke, Emily thought. Lorelai knew exactly what she hoped for Rory. Maybe this _was_ the first time Rory had been interested in someone in a long while. But it didn't automatically make Tristan _the_ one. He was just a one. And he wasn't even in the country, so Emily didn't need to worry about it anymore.

Before she could return to the living room, the maid came to tell her dinner was ready. Emily had the others follow her into the dining room, and she didn't even have to do any special maneuvering to get Rory to sit next to Ethan. As the dinner got underway, Emily watched the two young people make polite conversation. He complimented her taste in books. Rory would occasionally smile and agree with something he said. She was only picking at her food.

By the time they finished eating, Emily wasn't at all pleased. She turned her attention to her daughter. "Lorelai, could I talk to you for a moment in the study?"  
>"About what?"<p>

"Just—about—I need to ask you something."

"Can't you ask here?"

"No."

Lorelai sighed dramatically, and then stood up. "Fine."

Emily smiled at the other two. "We'll be right back." She followed Lorelai out to the hallway, but stopped her before they got more than a few steps away.

"What?" Lorelai asked. "Who's yanking an arm off now?"

"She's so melancholy, and they're boring together."

"You should be glad she isn't in a bad mood. And they're getting along really well."

"Rory's hardly smiling, and when she does it doesn't go to her eyes. She's just going through the motions." Emily put her hands at her hips.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Lorelai asked. "Go tell her to smile right?"

Ignoring her, Emily went on, "They aren't even whispering to each other."

"Why would they?" Lorelai asked, looking at Emily as though she was crazy. "They're sitting right next to each other."

"I don't know why they'd whisper, but it's what she did when—when Tristan and his family was here. They had their own running conversation on the side the whole time. They were constantly leaning in toward each other."

"What is she going to have a side conversation about with this guy?" Lorelai asked, jerking her head in the direction of the dining room.

"I don't know."

"She just met him. Did you expect them to fall in love immediately?"

"Of course not." Emily didn't know what to expect anymore. This wasn't going any better than it had at the party. It didn't even matter if Tristan was out of reach.

After a moment, Lorelai gently said, "It was a fluke, you know."

Emily looked at her. "What was?"

"They already knew each other—Rory and Tristan. And it wasn't their fault Francine put them in a room together. They were just innocent bystanders."

"Speaking of Francine, she called me to stammer an apology for everything," Emily said grimly.

"Good," Lorelai said. "Everyone can move on now."

"I didn't say I forgave her. I'm still considering it."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. She walked away then, returning to the dining room, where the maid was bringing out strawberry shortcake for dessert.

Emily had waited so long for Rory to have everything Lorelai missed out on. She was supposed to have it all. And she was supposed to get it while Emily was still around to see it. Richard wouldn't get to, she thought morosely. She wondered what he would have to say about how she'd acted the past few months. She knew the answer though, he'd think she was being silly. All this to-do over how a couple of people met. She peeked into the living room again and sighed. She just wanted her granddaughter to be happy and have the life she deserved. She didn't think it was so much to ask.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory was still at the dining room table later, picking at the last of her dessert, when her grandmother returned from seeing her guest out.

"You two got along well," she commented.

"Yeah," Rory said, looking down at her plate. "He was nice. And good looking. We have the same opinions about Ayn Rand's books." She looked over to Emily guiltily. "Maybe I should have accepted his offer to go to that charity auction tomorrow. I wasn't trying hard enough."

"It's all right. You shouldn't have said yes if you didn't want to go. Besides," Emily added, "he left with his tie, so I suppose you just didn't like him enough."

Rory's stomach flopped and her eyes grew wide. "What?" She felt her face warm slightly. She'd never made it back upstairs for Tristan's tie on the night of the party. Apparently Emily found it. Rory wondered if her grandmother knew who it belonged to. Then she remembered dinner the week after the party. Of course her grandmother knew, she was stubborn, not blind.

"Please, you're your mother's daughter," Emily said flippantly, taking a bite of her strawberry shortcake.

Lorelai took a sip of wine and musingly said, "I can't tell from your tone, but I'm going to take that as a compliment."

Changing the subject, Emily asked, "How is your job search going?"

Lorelai answered, "She doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up."

"Nonsense," Emily said, looking at her granddaughter. "You're a journalist. You always wanted to be a journalist."

Rory shrugged a little. "Nothing sounds good right now. And the hours are bad."

Emily quickly said, "You'd like better hours?"

"I think it'd be helpful if I want a life outside work," Rory said. "Which pretty much rules out dropping everything to cover a story at any second."

Emily muttered to herself, "You want more than work." Looking back up, she asked, "Do you think you might want to do something else then?"

Rory shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe." She heard how it sounded and shook her head. "That's crazy. I can't just do something else. I worked my whole life to be a journalist. It's too late to change course."

"Says who?" Emily asked. "Your grandfather started a whole new business after he retired. And he was much older than you."

"It was the same kind of business though," Rory protested.

"Teaching at Yale was new," Lorelai said.

"Yes, that's true," Emily agreed.

"But—I have no idea what I'd do instead."

"Now, you're good at so many things, I'm sure there are lots of jobs you could get."

Rory's lips pursed grimly and her brows lowered. "Like what?" The she said, "Maybe I should look into publishing. I'd get to decide what books are published."

"You'd be really good at it," Lorelai said.

That was probably true, but Rory frowned down at her plate, uneasy. "I'd have to go to New York though. It still doesn't sound very exciting."

Lorelai commented, "Nowhere sounds good to you."

"That's not true. I can go anywhere," Rory told her defensively. She briefly wondered how many times she'd said that in the past few months. For something she boasted as a benefit, the freedom wasn't making this job search any easier. But she still went on, "If the right job comes up, I'll go. Anywhere—it doesn't matter. Or maybe I won't have to move at all." She put her fork down and rested her cheek against her fist.

"You're a writer," Emily said. "You could become a novelist."

"I never thought of that," Rory said. "But I think I want job stability. It takes years for some people to get published."

"All right. Let's think about what else you're good at."

"Fixing people," Lorelai chimed in.

"I do not fix people," Rory said, getting defensive again. If anyone changed, it wasn't because of anything she did. She'd encouraged some people, sure, but that wasn't the same. Slowly, she said, "A lot of people have potential to do more with their life. Sometimes they just need a push." She continued, "Even I needed a push a couple times. Like to go back to Yale."

"Who gave you a push?" Emily asked.

"Jess."

"That hoodlum?"

Rory looked up at her grandmother. "Uh, yeah—but he isn't really a hoodlum anymore. That's the point. I saw him doing something with his life, so I wanted to be productive again too—and actually, in high school, I told him he could do more if he focused."

"So the circle's complete," Lorelai deadpanned. "How symbiotic."

Rory shot her a grim look.

"You don't still talk to him, do you?" Emily asked, brows knit in concern.

Rory glanced at her grandmother to answer, "He's Luke's nephew. So, on occasion."

"Yes, yes of course," Emily said, hastily going back to her shortcake.

Rory went on, "Some people just have their head in the clouds when they're young—or don't have someone at home to encourage them." Some parents would rather spend their time in Fiji, she thought. "But they can still make something of themselves. And okay, I think everyone should go to college. So sue me."

"All right, calm down," Lorelai said. "So you don't fix people, you see their potential. Maybe you should become a motivational speaker."

"No thanks."

Emily sighed as she looked toward the empty chair at the other end of the table. "I wish Richard was here. He'd know just how to help."

Rory silently agreed.

"There you go," Lorelai said, finishing off her dessert.

"What?"

"Insurance. You could follow Dad's footsteps."

"I don't know anything about insurance," Rory said. She pushed a strawberry across her plate and sighed. She slowly said, "Grandpa taught a Yale too."

"I already said that," Lorelai said. "Weren't you listening?"

Emily gasped happily. "You could teach."

After a pause, Rory asked, "Teach what?"

"Hoodlum high school kids who need some direction," Lorelai answered.

"I didn't say who, I said what," Rory said dryly. "Like what subject."

"Oh. Gee, I don't know. How about English?" she said pointedly.

"You would be perfect for that," Emily said eagerly.

Rory briefly considered the talking about books all day. She didn't hate the idea, but she still argued, "Some kids hate good books after a teacher makes them read it for class. I don't want to ruin the classics for anyone."

"Then make it interesting," Lorelai said. "And don't yammer on about symbolism on every page. No one cares about Holden's red baseball cap."

"Maybe they don't know it symbolizes how unique he is," Rory argued.

"Whatever," Lorelai said. "Did he have to call everything phony?"

"I'll give you that one."

"So can we put English teacher in the 'maybe' column? It's the first thing you don't have any valid excuses for."

"I guess," Rory said. "I'll look into it." An image of a classroom bulletin board with college information flashed through her mind. She was surprised how quickly the thought came, and how much she liked the idea. It almost made her smile. Hastily, she said, "I'd have to go back to school."

"I know that's a huge disappointment for you," Lorelai said.

Again, Rory said, "I'll look into it."

"Just think," Emily said. "You could teach at Chilton. I'm sure they'd love to have you back, you're one of their success stories."

"I only said I'd look into it," Rory reminded her. "And they probably only hire experienced teachers."

"Yes of course." Emily went on, "But if you find a job in the area, you could live close by. You could live in a charming townhouse in Hartford."

"Sure, Hartford," Rory said. "I could stay here."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On Saturday morning, Tristan strolled down the sidewalk at the Yokosuka naval base. He walked into the legal services building and went down the hall. He unlocked a door to let himself into his office. He took a seat at his desk and picked up his phone, dialing his parents' house. When the maid answered, he asked for his mother.

"Hello?" Cecilia said a minute later.

"Mom, how are you?"

"I'm fine, your grandfather is over for dinner tonight. We're just finishing dessert," she said. "Are you all settled?"

"Yes," he answered. "I need a favor."

"What?"

"I mailed plane tickets to your house. I need you to give them to Lorelai," he said. Then he added, "Gilmore."

"All right, I'll be going to her inn next week for a DAR meeting anyway, so it works out."

"Thanks." He wondered if Rory would be there. He quickly shook off the thought. She was probably out of the country. Luckily, she thought he was a liar and wouldn't have believed what he'd said before they parted at the airport. He hadn't meant to say all he had, but the truth tumbled out in a moment of frustration. Then he had a long plane ride to play it over and over in his head. It'd been his personal inflight movie. She probably brushed it off though.

His mother interrupted his thoughts. "Why are you giving her plane tickets?"

"Who?"

There was a pause. "Lorelai."

"Oh, she was supposed to borrow my plane to go to a concert, but I don't have it anymore, so she needs a way to get there."

"I see," Cecilia said.

He warily asked, "Has Dad started on his latest acquisition yet?"

"What acquisition?"

"He wants to merge another firm," Tristan said, turning to a file cabinet and opening a drawer. "One that specializes in patents. Didn't he tell you his big new plans?"

"No. What would he want with patents?" Cecilia asked.

"I don't know. But he said he wanted it and told me I was going to work there. It's why I quit." He quickly added, "One of the reasons."

"Don't you think you were being rash, quitting like that?"

"Maybe," Tristan admitted, pulling a file out and closing the drawer. "But that doesn't mean I've changed my mind about it."

"You're still coming back in a few years though, aren't you? Where will you work then?"

A few seconds silently ticked by. "I have a job." Even though he didn't care, he still returned to the previous topic and asked, "So who'd Dad choose to get him what he wants this time?"

"I really don't think your father wants another firm. I've never heard him mention it."

Tristan frowned. "Then why did he—." He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." He rapped up the conversation and told his mother good bye before ending the call.

He drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. He considered the two large purchases he'd made upon his return to Hartford in the spring. He already had the plane taken care of, which just left his house. He thought about the rooms Rory and he'd painted together, the furniture she'd helped pick out. He idiotically let her be a part of it. Even the rooms she didn't have a say in were done when he'd been a wreck when she was away. He didn't know if he'd want to live in a house he'd made a home with a woman he didn't have. And he wasn't sure where life was going to take him anymore.

The house might be the next thing to go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In Stars Hollow, Rory walked from her bedroom to the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. "Good, you're already in your pajamas," she said.

"So?" Rory said, pouring herself a cup of coffee before pulling out a chair to sit at the table.

"Tonight is the night. You're going to take the time to be sad about Tristan."

Rory rolled her eyes and lifted her cup, starting to get up, but her mother stopped her.

"No, stay here. I finally figured out why you're upset."

"That's because I already told you," Rory said impatiently. "I'm upset about his mind games."

"Oh come, you like him. And how can you be sure it's all his fault and not Grandma's—at least a little?"

"What? How could it possibly be Grandma's fault?" Rory asked. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"She was so against Tristan, she made him the forbidden fruit," Lorelai said. "It automatically made him even more attractive."

Rory deadpanned, "You're obviously confusing me with you."

"I'm just saying, you're denying some other factors and focusing on that one thing." Lorelai continued, "I know you were worried about his relationship with his dad. Even I felt for the guy after hearing second hand stories his mom heard from the nanny. He couldn't have faked all that, could he?"

Rory crossed her arms and didn't answer immediately. After a couple seconds, she said, "Fine. I guess not."

"And that didn't have anything to do with wanting to date you. His mind games weren't what won you over."

Rory considered her options. Maybe if she went ahead and knocked this out now, her mother would finally leave her alone. "Fine," she said again, staying at the table. "You're right. I'm ready to deal with it properly so I can move on with my life." To really play up the part, she went to the freezer to get a carton of ice cream. She took a large spoon from a drawer and returned to her place at the table. She opened the carton and stabbed the hard ice cream with her spoon.

"Good," Lorelai said. "But first, do you know what you're getting over?"

"Yes." Solemnly, Rory said, "The great love of my life went far away, so we had to end our. . . whatever you'd call it—and now I might not see him for years. So order a pizza and crank up Adele, because it's time to face the sad sad truth."

Lorelai blinked. "No."

Rory's spoon stopped. "No? What am I getting over then?"

In a serious tone, Lorelai said, "You weren't in a relationship."

Rory sighed. "I know I wasn't. That's what I've been telling you."

"I know," Lorelai agreed, to Rory's surprise. "I'm sorry, I haven't been listening. You've been telling me what's wrong with you for weeks."

"There's nothing wrong with me." Rory dug her spoon in and ate a big bite of Rocky Road ice cream.

"Yes there is, but it's okay. You're not upset about a relationship. You're upset you didn't get to have one," Lorelai said.

"What?"

"It's easier to wallow when you know what you're getting over."

"_What_?" Rory said, putting the spoon down, not too gently. "It's easier to get over an actual relationship? Do you hear yourself?"

"That's not quite what I'm saying," Lorelai said quickly. "It's just—at the end of a relationship, you can think about all the good times and put stuff in a box. You know what you walked away from, you know what you're missing."

Rory blinked. "That doesn't make this worse."

Lorelai continued, "But it's still painful. I know the feeling—remember when we got our hopes up about your dad before he knew Sherry was pregnant?"

Rory gave her mother a wild-eyed look, and incredulously asked, "Did you really just make that comparison? You and Dad have a history, you have—me. We could have been a family. He went to be a family with someone else. The situations are completely different."

"But the feeling is similar," Lorelai said. "I was happy about the future and had it pulled out from under me by something out of my control. You remember, it was devastating." Slowly, she continued, "You don't have much now except all the what-ifs. You can think about what might have been, but you'll never know."

"Except we do know," Rory said. "You and Dad tried marriage and it didn't work. So see? I don't have anything to worry about." For the hundredth time, she heard Tristan's last words to her. She quickly put a stop to that train of thought.

"As you already pointed out though, you aren't me," Lorelai said. "And with all the kerfuffle about Tristan working in Straub's office, I'd say he isn't your dad." She shook her head in frustration and continued, "I only meant the emotion was the same—that's all."

Rory pushed away from the table. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." She left the ice cream and her coffee and went back to her room. She flopped down on her bed with her arms crossed, but was in no condition to fall asleep. Even if she could, she didn't want to have that dream again. She figured out how they were getting different. Tristan was getting farther away each time.


	16. XVI

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Worried it can't be fixed? Oh, ye of little faith. I know you're wondering, and the answer is yes. I will write the fourth mystery. And yes, I will post more little scenes over on my LJ. Thank you for humoring me while I took a break from it.

**XVI**

Emily walked into the Dragonfly on Tuesday afternoon. Lorelai wasn't standing at the counter, so she proceeded to the dining room, where her DAR meeting would take place shortly. She was happy to see Rory sitting at one of the tables. On the occasions Emily had seen her there, she was usually in front of her laptop with papers all around. However, that was not the case today. Rory had her laptop with her, but it was closed as she simply read a book and sipped a cup of coffee. Emily sat down next to her.

"Grandma, hi," Rory said with a small smile as she marked her page and sat the book on the table. "I was just taking a break. I was actually looking into graduate programs."

"Education programs?" Emily asked.

"Yeah. I could start in the fall."

Emily was thrilled Rory wanted to find a different job—one with benefits and steady pay. At her last birthday—her real birthday—Emily was sure her granddaughter was going to be a free spirited journalist for the rest of her life, living with her mother and go wherever the news took her. She was glad Rory had gone out and followed her dreams, but she was even happier Rory wanted other things out of life now. Emily hoped she wasn't getting her hopes up for nothing.

Rory looked down at her book and played with the bookmark. "I can get a Master's in just a year and I'd be all set."

"That's wonderful," Emily said. "Are you going back to Yale?"

"I'm not sure, but maybe," Rory answered.

Around them, the wait staff was getting the room ready for the upcoming meeting. Some of the other DAR members were trickling in, waving at Emily and Rory as they passed.

"You know," Emily said. "You can stay for the meeting. Everyone would love to have you." This was perfect, Rory was really going to have a normal schedule, Emily thought. She could join some committees if she was interested.

"Oh, I don't know," Rory said, not enthusiastically.

"You're always welcome to join us."

"Thanks," she said. "But I'm probably going to get out of your way."

Before she could get up though, something near the dining room entrance caught Rory's attention. Emily glanced over to see Cecilia Dugray walk into the room. She'd recently started attending DAR meetings and functions again. Emily had to admit she was an asset to the group. She had excellent connections.

When Cecilia saw Rory and Emily, she approached them. She joined them at the table and smiled as greeting to Emily before saying, "Rory, how are you? I haven't talked to you in quite a while."

"I'm fine," Rory answered, sitting up a little straighter, suddenly looking anxious. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you."

Emily couldn't deny the blond woman had always been receptive of Rory. They'd remained friendly and Rory seemed to measure up to whatever expectations they had for Tristan.

Rory asked, "Did Quinn mange to talk you into coming back to the DAR?"

"Yes," Cecilia said. "She told me how she's been having a good time with all the ladies, so I moved some things around in my schedule and found time. I must say, I did miss the Daughters of the American Revolution. I'm afraid I was a bit lapsed."

"Oh, yeah, I am too," Rory said.

"Cecilia sponsored Quinn for the symphony committee," Emily added.

"Right, I heard about that," Rory said. She turned back to the blond. "That was nice of you."

"I think Emily will agree she's a lovely addition to the organization," Cecilia said.

"Yes, she's almost as enthusiastic about the symphony as you are."

Cecilia asked a passing waiter for a beverage, then nodded in agreement. "She is. She and I are organizing a trip to Italy. Imagine," she said dreamily, "the birthplace of opera. Doesn't that sound wonderful? It's been years since I was there last."

Rory didn't share the woman's smile. Instead, her brows were moving closer together. "If you'll be traveling, you'll stop in Japan for a visit, too, won't you?"

"I suppose we could," Cecilia said musingly. "I'm not much for Kabuki Theater, myself. But it could be an interesting study of Far East culture."

"No," Rory objected.

"Well, yes of course, Kabuki was influenced by Noh. So we could compare the two."

Rory shook her head and scowled. "No, not Noh opera—"

"It's actually dance drama."

"Whatever," Rory said impatiently. "I wasn't talking about Japanese dance. I was talking about Tristan—you know, your son? He lives in Japan for now. You'll go visit him, won't you?"

"Oh, yes I guess we could," Cecilia said flippantly.

Rory shook her head in amazement at the woman again. Even Emily frowned a little at Cecilia. She could show an ounce of maternal instinct once in a while. Emily knew Tristan's name would come up eventually. Though she assumed his mother would have been the one to mention him first. It was obviously why Rory had stayed to talk with her.

"Speaking of Tristan," Cecilia said, looking through her purse. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Rory, whose face had grown pink. She was looking more anxious than before. "Could you give that to your mother? I didn't see her at the front desk when I came in."

Rory's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, okay," she said, a bit flat. "What is it?"

"Plane tickets. She was supposed to ride his jet to a concert, apparently."  
>"Right, the U2 concert. It was her birthday present." Slowly, Rory asked, "What are the tickets for though? His plane doesn't need tickets."<p>

"He doesn't have it anymore," Cecilia answered.

Rory stared for a second. "Why not?"  
>"He sold it. He doesn't need it anymore."<p>

"But he will—when he comes back," Rory protested. "It was a business investment. So he'll need it again later—when he comes back to Connecticut again."

"Actually, he quit."

"Quit what?"  
>"His job at the firm."<p>

Rory paled, not unlike Tristan had before leaving Emily's after dinner—stricken with bad news. Rory asked, "But . . . when did he quit?"

"Right before he left for Japan," Cecilia answered. "It was quite a surprise. He came over to the house and Mason told him to go work at another firm to be merged when he returned, but Tristan didn't want to. So he quit, just like that."

"Oh my," Emily said. So much for Francine's wishes, she thought.

"No," Rory said, shaking her head. "Tristan isn't supposed to quit. He's supposed to come back and work for Mason. And Mason wouldn't force him to do anything, he thinks Tristan would—." Rory stopped and gasped, eyes wide.

"I know," Cecilia said, not noticing Rory's odd reaction. "Mason doesn't even have plans to expand more. I honestly don't know what either one of them was thinking."

Rory took a moment to recover before she asked, "Where will he work when he comes back?"

Emily had lost count of the number of times Rory had inquired on Tristan's return—and instance that it would happen. She must have intended on seeing him again when the time came.

"I asked him the same thing," Cecilia said. "He was rather cryptic, saying he already has a job."

"But that job tells him where to go," Rory protested, a hint of desperation in her tone.

"Yes, it does," Cecilia said with a frown. "We always thought he was going to resign from the JAG Corps when his commission was up. But now I'm not so sure. Mason said Tristan changed his mind."

Rory looked down at her hands and meekly said, "He didn't even want to go." She blinked faster and Emily saw her chin trembled a little. She swallowed hard and took a shaky breath.

Cecilia went on, "So he sold his plane, and the last time his grandfather talked to him, he's going to have realtors look at his house."

Rory's eyes flashed back up to Cecilia. "What? Why?"

"To sell it. I suppose he won't need it."

"What? He can't sell his house," Rory said, holding back tears.

"I don't care for its location," Cecilia said, oblivious of the effect all this was having on Rory. "But I thought he was at least going to settle down finally." She turned to Emily. "There were so many nice girls at Rory's party. I don't think he even gave any of them the time of day."

Rory looked down at her hands again.

"I'm not sure about that," Emily said. She wondered what party Cecilia had attended.

Rory glanced at Emily quickly and then back to Tristan's mother.

"I have no idea what he's looking for," Cecilia continued, frustrated. "I don't know where he got such impossible standards."

Again, Emily had no idea how the woman could be so blind. Tristan quite obviously wouldn't be distracted away from Rory. Emily could tell that from the moment she saw the two of them in a room together. And on that note, she really couldn't find fault in his high standards if Rory was the only one to come out ahead.

It struck Emily that no one was getting what they wanted, not just Francine. Rory was succumbing to how miserable she really was about the whole situation.

She sniffled and lifted her head then. "What if he goes on inactive duty again? Won't he need somewhere to live?"

"If guess we'll find out if it ever happens," Cecilia answered. She was distracted by a younger blond woman walking into the dining room. "Oh, there's Quinn, excuse me." She got up and joined the other woman.

Emily turned back to Rory, struggling to hold back her emotions in a room filling with people. Lorelai had been right. She looked as though she lost someone she loved. Emily hated to see her granddaughter in such pain, she knew it was an awful emptiness.

"I should get out of your way," Rory said, standing up. Emily picked up her belongings and walked out to the front desk, where her daughter was now stationed.

"Hey, did you kick Rory out?" Lorelai asked. "She just made a beeline for the front door."

Emily quickly recapped what Cecilia had just told them and handed over the envelope with plane tickets.

Concern etched Lorelai's face as she looked toward the door. A couple entered and approached the desk. She looked to the Frenchman next to her. "Michel, I'm going to step out for a few minutes. Can you handle things here?"

"No," Michel drawled. "I cannot function without you by my side constantly."

"I'll be back," she said, walking around the counter and heading to the door.

Emily followed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the horse stable, Rory sat on a wood bench with her face in her hands. The damn had finally broken, and she cried openly. When her mother stepped into the barn, she quickly wiped at her cheeks. Her grandmother was there too, though she stayed near the open door.

"Hey," Lorelai said gently as she sat down. "Are you okay?"

Rory swallowed hard and nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"I heard what happened."

"I like Tristan's house," Rory explained, as though that was what she was really upset about. "I just—I like it. I helped him paint it. He just finished it. But now he might sell it."

"Since he quit?"

Rory flinched. "I guess." The lump rose in her throat and renewed tears filled her eyes. "It's my fault, I meddled. I thought something needed to be fixed," she continued, describing her conversation with Mason before she knew Tristan had his orders.

"It isn't your fault," Lorelai said when she'd finished.

"Why would Mason do that though? He had everything figured out, and after that he did what he said he wouldn't do. I don't understand." Guiltily, she added, "I taunted Tristan about working at Straub's firm. I was out of line."

"If you think he worked with his dad for the wrong reasons, then it's good he quit," Lorelai said.

"But what if he never comes back now?" Rory asked.

"You were mad at him anyway," Lorelai reminded her.

"I might not be mad by the time he got back," Rory said pitifully.

"That could be years," Lorelai said with a frown. "Were you banking on that?"

Rory didn't answer. In the back of her mind, he wouldn't be gone forever.

"Is that why you didn't want to move anywhere? You wanted to be around when he got back?" Lorelai asked in a tone of concerned awe.

Again, Rory was silent. Did she? She hadn't consciously planned on it, but staying in Connecticut was the only option that didn't make her uneasy. She was starting to get used to the idea of a career change. She looked into graduate school, and turned down a reporting job in Massachusetts without a second thought. Every time she glanced at her books she'd take one down because she thought every high school student needed to read it. She had a stack of at least a dozen so far.

She was going to have time for a life. What was she going to do, she asked herself, march up to Tristan when he got back and brag about the normal hours of her job and her own place to live? And maybe by then he wouldn't be mad at her for what she'd said at the airport.

Rather than answer or admit to any of this, she crossed her arms and said, "He didn't have to quit and sell his house. He wants a life anyway, not just a job. Where will he put his family if he doesn't have a house?"

"His parents were going to live with him?" Lorelai asked. "I know you thought he had Oedipal issues, but I didn't think they were that severe."

"No," Rory said, not in the mood for her mother's jokes. "_His_ family. You know, his wife and kids."

After a brief pause, Lorelai said, "He can still have that, even if he isn't in Hartford. There are houses on military bases. His family can go with him."

Rory had to swallow down another lump. She brushed some stray hair behind her ear. "Oh, right. Good." He'd be somewhere else, with someone else.

This was just like waking up from one of her dreams. Tristan would be out of sight soon, so it should be better once she couldn't see him. Instead, she woke up short of breath every time, blinking back tears. The farther away he got, the worse she felt. He wasn't coming back, she kept thinking over and over. She'd never see him again. Their good bye was permanent.

"I'll have to start going to DAR meetings," she muttered absentmindedly.

"Why?" Lorelai asked.

"He won't be in Japan forever." He'd have to go wherever he was sent, and Rory wouldn't know where he was. He'd be lost to her. Tears filled her eyes just thinking about it. "I'll have to find out from his mom where he is."

Lorelai blinked. She opened her mouth, but closed it. "Uh, I need to get back inside. Are you going to be okay?"

Rory nodded solemnly. "Yeah. I'm going to go home."

Lorelai stood and went to the entrance of the horse stable, where Emily was no longer standing. Rory wondered how long she'd stayed to listen before going in to her metting.

"Mom?"

Lorelai stopped and turned back. "Yeah?"  
>"Can we eat junk food and watch sappy movies tonight?"<br>"Definitely," Lorelai said before she continued out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few days later, Rory was sitting with Lorelai in the diner at a table near a window. They were waiting for Emily, who for reasons unknown, wanted to have lunch with them. Rory rested her chin on her fist. She was tired. She'd spent two days moping around the house.

Lorelai kept glancing out the window.

"You look paranoid," Luke said as he poured them coffee.

"I am," she said. "Always be suspicious of Emily Gilmore, especially when she comes to our turf."

"Maybe she just wants to have lunch with you where you're comfortable," he suggested.

"Not likely. She's a woman with an agenda."

"If you say so," Luke said. He turned to Rory. "Can I get you something to eat?" He had a sympathetic tone.

"No," Rory said, only accepting the cup of coffee. "I'm not hungry."

Luke glanced at Lorelai, and Rory averted her gaze. They were worried about her, and they pitied her. She hated it. She'd gone ahead and stupidly fell in love with someone she knew might have to leave. And now he wasn't coming back. Or maybe he would, she thought. Surely he'd come back home to see his family at some point, like holidays.

She kept playing scenarios in her mind. She'd run into him randomly somewhere—a party perhaps, or a charity event. She imagined driving past his house and seeing a light on. That wasn't going to happen if he didn't keep it. She couldn't believe he was going to sell it.

She'd barely slept the past two nights. If she didn't sleep, she wouldn't know how far Tristan had got in her dream. She wouldn't know if he'd turn if she'd called out his name. She wouldn't know if her feet would move if she tried to take a step. She willed the tears to not fill her eyes.

When Luke had moved to the next table, Lorelai said, "You should eat something."

"I said I'm not hungry."

"We're always hungry."

"Well today I'm not," Rory said impatiently.

The bell above the door chimed and Emily joined them a moment later.

"Hi Mom," Lorelai said.

"Hello, how are you girls today?" Emily asked with a smile.

"We're," Lorelai started, eyes darting to Rory, "fine. We're fine."

"Good. Have you already ordered lunch?"  
>"Of course not, we were waiting for you," Lorelai said, gesturing for Luke to come back to their table.<p>

After Lorelai ordered a burger and fries and Emily a salad, all eyes fell on Rory. She sighed and grudgingly asked for macaroni and cheese. She might as well get comfort food if she was going to continue wallowing.

"So why did you want to meet?" Lorelai asked her mother.

"Can't I just have lunch with my daughter and granddaughter without an ulterior motive?"

From a couple tables away, Luke said, "That's what I told her."  
>"All right, I guess," Lorelai conceded. "Is there anything new going on with you, Mom?"<p>

"Why yes, thank you for asking. I have new maid—"

"Shocker."

"She's Hungarian. Last night she made goulash for dinner."

Lorelai blinked. "Good story."

Rory stared down at her coffee cup.

"It's been so nice out lately, I've been out working in my flower beds for hours."

"Fun," Lorelai said.

"I went ahead and planted new tulips. It's a bit late in the season, but there's no harm in trying."

"That's nice."

"I didn't appreciate them at first, but I think they'll look nice in with the zinnias."

Luke brought their food over then, and Emily commented, "That didn't take long. I've wasted so much time in five star restaurants, where they cook everything so slow."

"Yeah, well, we're fast and cheap here," Lorelai said, turning the ketchup bottle upside down.

"Charming," Emily said before taking a bite of her salad. "Rory, I wanted to ask you if you're for sure interested in teach English."

Rory nodded, shoveling her macaroni around the plate. "Yeah. I think I'd like to try it."

"There's no harm in trying," Emily said approvingly. Then she asked, "Have you considered teaching overseas?"

Rory looked up from her plate slowly. "What?"  
>Emily nodded. "Overseas. There are American schools all over the world. The State Department supports schools in other countries. You could teach at one. Then there's the Department of Defense, they run schools everywhere too."<p>

Lorelai asked, "How do you know all this?"

Emily glanced at her daughter. "I Googled it."

Scandalized, Lorelai said, "Mom, we don't need to know how you spend your alone time."  
>Emily shook her head grimly and turned back to Rory. "Diplomats and ambassadors from America live with their families, and their children have to go to school."<p>

Diplomats, Rory thought. They weren't the only ones living abroad, as Lorelai had pointed out a few days ago.

"You would be perfect for it," Emily continued. "Your grandfather always wanted you to see the world. This way, you could see more than the hotel rooms—I know he always hated that part of traveling for work."

Rory stared at her grandmother.

"Of course," Emily continued, "there is a downside. Everyone wants to go to Europe, so you'd have to be open to going somewhere else."

Rory's heart had started to beat faster. Slowly, she asked, "Somewhere else, like . . . Asia?"

"I suppose so," Emily said, concentrating on gathering lettuce leaves with her fork prongs.

Lorelai stopped eating and looked across the table at her mother.

Rory hesitated for a beat. "That's crazy," she argued. "Just leave—just like that?"

"Is it crazy?" Emily asked. "I thought you said you would go anywhere. You didn't mean it?"  
>"I meant it—but—that's really far," Rory stuttered. Then, "What about Friday night dinners? When would we see each other?" Her hand was shaking slightly, so she put her fork down and clasped her hands in her lap.<p>

"Do you think we wouldn't visit you wherever you lived?" Emily asked, offended. "I've traveled to Europe a disproportionate number of times in my life anyway. It's about time I see what else is out there." She added, "And your mother and I will manage just fine on our own for dinner on Fridays."

Rory looked to Lorelai. "What do you think about all this?"  
>Lorelai slowly lifted one of her shoulders. "Grandma made some good points. But you know it's your decision." She added, "You said you would go wherever it felt right. Only you know what that is."<p>

"What if it doesn't work out?"  
>"What if it does?" Emily countered. "But you could be right. Maybe you should just stay here at home, where you're comfortable and happy with the status quo. You're the one who has to live with yourself and not knowing if you could have been a big success out in the world."<p>

Rory couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her grandmother innocently ate her salad, as though she hadn't just suggested Rory move to the opposite side of the world. The idea wasn't met with the same resistance as all the other places she was 'free' to go. It had felt comfortable to stay where she was, where she could keep a watchful eye on any developments that arose. But there might not be any.

Rory's gaze drifted outside to the town square, where Taylor and Kirk were hanging a banner for the Spring Fling. Kirk's side was too low and Taylor was yelling and gesturing. If she left, she'd miss all the town festivals and contests. But then she had to admit to missing many over the years anyway. She hadn't been to several winter carnivals, and even when she was in town for the last one, she'd been asleep from jet lag.

She could go wherever she wanted, nothing was stopping her. She turned back to Emily and Lorelai. "I think I'm going to go for a walk . . . to think."  
>"Of course," Emily said. "Take all the time you need."<p>

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Luke came to their table and refilled Lorelai's cup with coffee. It was probably her eighth for the day, if Emily had to guess. She glanced out the window and saw the town selectman and that Kirk fellow arguing over a banner advertising some silly festival. They must have one every week. How any work got done around here, she didn't know.

"Rory didn't eat her macaroni and cheese," Luke commented. Emily heard concern in his tone.

"No," Lorelai said. "But can you bring a box? I'll take it home for her. I think she might be hungry later."

"Sure thing," Luke said. "Can I get you anything else, Emily?"

Emily looked up at him. "Yes, I'll have more tea."

He nodded and headed back to the counter.

Lorelai leaned in and said, "That was some of the finest manipulation I've ever seen you do."

Emily turned to her daughter with a haughtily arched brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But Lorelai nodded her head. "Bringing up Dad like that, it was a nice touch."

"What? He always said she had things to do and places to see."

"Mm-hmm."

Luke came over with the pitcher of tea then, pouring more into Emily's glass. Lorelai asked for pie as she took the box from him.

"I didn't do anything," Emily said again. "I just made a suggestion. There are many opportunities out in the world. I don't want Rory to let any . . . get away, if it's what she wants." And she certainly didn't want to see her granddaughter attend DAR meetings to hear an occasional mention of Tristan. It was the most ridiculous thing Emily had ever heard. Rory was obviously having trouble thinking clearly. Grief did that to a person, Emily knew.

"Sure," Lorelai said.

Emily pursed her lips after taking a sip of tea. "It's not like I'm going to live forever, you know. I want to be around to see—"

"Asia?"  
>"Yes. Asia," Emily said. "I don't know what you're making such a big deal about."<p>

"It is a big deal. It's a very big deal."

"Well, just let her make the decision on her own," she said sternly. "I know you like to nudge her in whatever direction you think is right."

Lorelai looked nonplussed. "I do not."

"Please," Emily said grimly. "You probably want her to live with you forever. She can leave the nest if she wants." She stood and tucked her chair in. "Just let Rory decide what to do. I will see you tomorrow night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan woke up in the dark to the sound of the phone ringing. He squinted at the glowing digital clock on his nightstand as he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he asked in a low voice, laying his head on his pillow.

"Tristan, is it a bad time?" his mother asked.

"Yes. What time do you think it is here?" he asked, incredulous.

"Let me see, you're already on tomorrow, aren't you? And it's two-thirty in the afternoon here. Oh dear, did I wake you?"  
>"Yes," Tristan deadpanned. "What do you need?"<br>"I'm coming for a visit."

Tristan was silent. It was too early for his brain to process information. "You're coming where?"

"To Japan."

"Why?"

"I told you. To visit."

"You're coming here to visit me in Japan?" he asked slowly. His mother had never visited him before—with the exception of school graduations. She definitely never came to see him when he was on base in Bahrain. He scrunched his forehead up at the ceiling.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're my son. Can't I just visit?"

"I guess."

"I want to see where you work now," Cecilia continued. "And I thought we could go see Kabuki Theater while I'm there."

"Oh." Now it made sense, marginally. "Okay, will it just be you?"

"Yes. I need you to come pick me up," she said quickly, "from the airport—Narita International."

"Sure," Tristan said, throwing off the blanket and sitting up. He walked out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, where he found something to write with. He switched on a light and squinted down at his sheet of paper. "When?"  
>"Next Tuesday."<p>

"Tuesday? That's in just three days. When did you decide to come?"

"Today. I just thought it would be nice to see you. It was a bit spur of the moment."

"I think that's the definition of spur of the moment." Frowning at this development, he asked, "What time is your flight getting here?"

"Six forty-five in the evening. Tuesday evening. Does that work for you? Will you be able to be there?"

"Yeah," Tristan said as he wrote down the information. "And if I can't for some reason, I'll make sure someone else does," he added absently.

"No, it has to be you."

His pen stopped at her odd insistence. "Fine. It'll be me."

"Good."

"How long are you staying?"

"Oh, uh, just for a short visit."

"So, what, a few days?"

"I'm not even there yet and you're trying to get rid of me?"

"I just want to know when you have to be back at the airport. I assume you don't have a one way ticket."

"Don't you worry," Cecilia said. "It'll be a surprise."

"I'm already surprised," he muttered. He shook his head as he finished writing the information down, including the location he needed to be waiting. Then he asked, "Didn't you start going to DAR meetings again? When do they meet?"

"Tuesday," she admitted. "But don't worry about that. They got along without me for so long, I think they can spare me a day."

"I _know_ you have the Symphony Committee meetings on Wednesdays. And those are at your house."

"They'll have it somewhere else," Cecilia said. "I'm flattered you think Hartford can't function without me."

"So, you just decided out of the blue to drop everything and come to Japan," Tristan stated.

"If it upsets you so much, I don't have to come," Cecilia said impatiently.  
>Tristan shook his head. "No, sorry. It's fine."<p>

"Don't be late to the airport."

"I won't." Speaking of flight information, Tristan slowly asked, "Did you give those plane tickets to Lorelai?"

"Uh, yes," Cecilia said. "She was at the inn Tuesday."

"Probably because she owns the place," he said dryly as he walked back to his room and sat down on the bed.

"Right, so I made sure she got the tickets."  
>"What do you mean?" Tristan asked. "You didn't give them to her directly?"<p>

"Well, no. But I left them in good hands."

"The French guy at the front desk?"  
>"No."<p>

Tuesday, the DAR. "Emily?"

"Not exactly."

A second ticked by. "Was Rory there?" he asked, wondering why his mother didn't just come out and say it.

"She was, actually. We chatted a bit and I left the tickets with her." Cecilia quickly added, "That's such a funny little town where she and Lorelai live, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm," Tristan mumbled his agreement. "A real loony bin. I think Lorelai's husband might be the warden."

"There's even a dance studio there," his mother continued.

"I know, Miss Patty's," he said, not caring.

"Yes, that's it. And does she have some stories," Cecilia rambled. "I peeked in on a ballet class. It's so nice to see young people taking an interest in the performing arts."

"Yeah, great," he said. Then he couldn't help but ask, "How was Rory?"

"Oh, she was fine. In fact, last I spoke with her she was in high spirits."

Tristan clenched his jaw. "Good. That's good." So she was happy and moved on, he thought. Good. That's what she was supposed to do. Life went on.

"I'm going to have to let you go," Cecilia said. "Don't forget, Tuesday night."

"Tuesday," he said tonelessly. "I'll see you then." He hung up the phone after they said good bye. He lay back in bed, but after five minutes, he knew sleep was not going to come. So he got up and went to his closet to get ready for his day.


	17. XVII

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Acknowledgments**: Thank you to TL22, for having correct information when Wikipedia did not. And thank you to Meg, for letting me use the pretty picture she made as the icon for this story.

**A/N**: Sorry this took so long. I was slow, and then had other stuff going on in real life.

**XVII**

Rory was in her room, taping up cardboard boxes filled with her things. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with all her books. There were so many, and she kept in mind—if things went how she imagined them—this wouldn't be the only move in her future. She considered taking a small collection of her favorites, and then starting anew. She put her hands on her hips and looked around the room, frowning in concentration. There were boxes stacked up against her dresser. Her books were organized by author's last name, with a list taped on top with the inventory of the box's contents. She could give any small town library a run for its money.

She located an empty box and picked it up when her mother walked in and took a seat on the bed.

"Have you decided what you're going to do with my room?" Rory asked.

"Oh, I have some ideas," Lorelai said assuredly. "I've been dreaming about the day I could finally have it to myself."

"Sure," Rory said, writing titles on a sheet of paper as she put the last of her books in the box.

"I'll turn it into a guest room and run a small bed and breakfast out of the house."

"Because owning and managing an inn isn't enough."

"That's my career, this will just be a hobby, a kind of off-shot of the inn. Luke will serve the food and I'll prepare mingling activities."

"So it'll be a hobby for _both_ of you."

"Yes." Lorelai looked around the room and went on, "I'll have to redecorate of course. I'm thinking of having a different theme every month."

"That'll keep you busy."

"Mm-hmm."

Rory wrote one last title on her inventory list and put the book in the box before taping it shut. "It sounds like you have it all figured out." She sat the box on top of the others and exhaled heavily. "Okay, that's it." She surveyed the room. After thirty years, her life consisted of clothing and books. She pointed to a smaller stack of boxes, separated from the others. "That's the stuff I'll need to have shipped to me. I can do without the rest, at least, at first."

Lorelai glanced in the direction her daughter pointed and saluted. "Will do." Then she asked, "Have you talked to your dad?"

"Yeah," Rory answered, sitting on the bed. "I had to repeat everything I said about four times."

"Is he getting hard of hearing in his old age?"

"No. It was all the information he had to process." She'd rendered her father speechless no less than three times, between telling him where she was going and why. She had patiently explained, knowing how unbelievable it sounded.

"I guess he was kind of blindsided."

"Probably," Rory agreed. She almost felt guilty about it, but she reasoned she would have told her father when there was something to tell, had Tristan stayed. "But he's going to meet us at the airport later. He wants to see me off."

"That's good," Lorelai said.

"Yeah, I'm glad he could make it."

"It's kind of nice," her mother commented. "He got to be there at the beginning this time. He usually only meets guys after you've been with them for a while."

"That's true," Rory said. A few seconds ticked by silently. "So, are you okay . . . with all this?"

Lorelai smiled wistfully. "Yeah, I'm good if you're good. Are you?"

Rory nodded, and then said, "Yeah. I'm good." This was the first time in the past month she meant it when she said it. Which wasn't to say she wasn't nervous. No one had asked her to go anywhere, much less move, so she wanted to be well received. She'd been excitedly anxious for the past three days. When she didn't sleep this time, it was because she was up making lists and thinking of what she was going to say when she got there. She still wasn't completely sure, but she had a long flight to come up with something.

"And it's perfect," Lorelai continued. "You'll be exactly thirteen hours away."

"How is that perfect?"

"You'll be getting ready in the morning when I'm getting ready for bed, and vice versa. It lines up just right for us to talk then."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," Lorelai insisted. "It'll make excellent bookends for the day."

Rory smiled a little. "Okay."

Lorelai smiled back and hugged Rory. She swallowed hard and blinked quickly. "So. What are you going to do when you get to Japan? Call Tristan up and say 'ta-da'?"

"No, it's more of an in-person kind of surprise," Rory answered. Though she had acquired his new phone numbers, she had not been the one to call him. "I took care of that the other day. He's supposed to be waiting at the airport at a quarter to seven."

Her father hadn't been the only one caught off guard with her big news. Luckily, it was met with happy surprise. She had to make sure Tristan's mother didn't accidently tell him the truth.

Rory checked her watch and picked up the bag she was going to take on the plane. Her suitcase was sitting next to the door. "Are you ready to go?" she asked her mother.

Lorelai pulled Rory's wrist over so she could see what time it was. "You have some time. I said I was okay with you leaving, but do you have to be so eager about it?"

"I should have clarified. Are you ready to go to Luke's for some coffee before we pick up Grandma?"

"_Oh_," Lorelai said, smiling. "Then yes, we should head out. I always have time for coffee with you."

They both stood up and walked toward the door. Rory looked back one more time, glancing around the room. Feeling as though she was doing the right thing, she stood up a little straighter and switched off the light, pulling her suitcase into the kitchen. She closed the door, ready to start the next chapter of her life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At Narita International Airport, Tristan was people watching Tuesday evening, again. But this time, he didn't wonder if they were coming or going. He didn't care. He was having one of those days where he wished he'd been sent straight to Japan instead of getting time to go to Hartford. It'd be better if he didn't know what could have happened. Ignorance is bliss, he thought.

As much as he identified Harford as his home, he'd been away for so long, he wasn't homesick for it. He was good at adapting to new places at this point, and Japan really wasn't bad. He hadn't explored the country yet, but he planned to do so when he got the chance. He wanted to go mountain biking and kayaking in Ski Niseko. And he wanted to take a hike in the Northern Alps.

Tristan hadn't yearned to be back in corporate boardrooms since being back in the JAG offices on a base. He'd comfortably fallen back into the rhythm of things. So it wasn't as if he didn't like where he was or what he was doing, there was just the one thing missing, that one thing he would never have.

His mother would be here soon, so he'd have to fight the urge to ask what Rory had talked about when Cecilia saw her at the inn. He didn't want to know, he told himself. He was better off not knowing, or caring. She was fine, she'd gone back to her life. His mother already said so. It wasn't like he expected her to walk around like a zombie. It'd been a month, after all. So it was fine if she was good. It was great.

He gave his head a shake. He should stop thinking about that.

He glanced at his watch and noted his mother's plane should have landed five minutes ago. He looked up at the glowing flight information and saw the plane was on schedule. It was probably slowly making its way down the tarmac and would soon be letting passengers off. She presumably rode First Class, so she shouldn't take long to get off the plane.

He waited fifteen minutes to allow her time to get to luggage claim before he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He carefully dialed all the digits of the phone number. After several rings, his mother finally answered.

"Hello?" Cecilia answered, sounding disoriented and more asleep than awake.

"Mom?" Tristan asked. "Are you at baggage claim yet?"

"What?"

"Baggage claim. Are you picking up your luggage?"

"My luggage? What are you—oh." She stopped and paused for a moment.

He heard a man's muffled voice in the background and his mother answered, "It's Tristan." She must have put her hand over the receiver, but he could still hear her say, "He's waiting at the airport."

Tristan furrowed his brows. "Was that Dad? You said you were the only one coming."

"I know. And I am."

"Then who on the plane would know who I am?"

"No one."

"You called to say you were coming and then called again to confirm," he said, starting to get impatient. "But now it doesn't sound like you're even at the airport. Are you at home in bed—in Hartford?"

Cecilia hesitated.

Tristan didn't know he'd been looking forward to this visit from his mother. He didn't even mind having to take her to see Japanese theater. But now, realizing she might not be here at all, he was disappointed. He asked her, "Did you forget?" Then he wondered how that could be possible though, since she called more than once, proving otherwise.

"No, don't be silly," she answered. "Why would I forget something like visiting you?"

Because it was in her nature, he thought. "You're a busy lady," he said. "So you are here?" There were many people walking by. They had just collected their suitcases and where eager to get to their first stop in Japan—whether it was out to dinner, a hotel, or home. None of them were his mother.

"So you're here."

Again, Cecelia paused. "Well, the thing is. . . "

Tristan looked up to the ceiling and sighed. "You're not in Japan," he deadpanned. "And I'm sitting in the airport—in my dress uniform. I guess I can go."

"No," Cecilia said, forcefully. "Stay right where you are. Don't move."  
>"Because you're about to walk around the corner any second?" he asked, watching for her. His mother still didn't appear. He stood up and started toward the exit. "Well this was fun, but I'm going to go now."<p>

"Don't you dare," she told him, sounding truly panicked. "You have to stay where you are."

"No I don't." He added, "And don't worry about rescheduling. I know you're very busy with all your committees and functions. It's okay if you can't fit in a trip to Japan."  
>"Are you really leaving the airport?"<p>

"Yes," Tristan said, walking through the door.

She quickly asked, "But where are you going?"

"Home."

Rather than continue to argue with him or apologize for forgetting to come, Cecilia abruptly hung up without so much as a goodbye. Tristan glanced down at his phone, perplexed. "Unbelievable," he muttered with a shake of his head. Apparently, along with his father, his mother had also lost her mind.

He walked to the exit and out to the parking lot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory was standing at the luggage claim, having just gotten off the plane. She anxiously watched the suitcases slowly move down the conveyor belt. She was tired from her thirteen hour fight, but also excited to finally be in Japan. Her heart was beating quickly at the thought of seeing Tristan in just a few minutes. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her bag. She was not going to miss this aspect of traveling.

She'd imagined this moment a hundred times in the past few days. She'd find Tristan sitting in a chair, his cheek relaxing against his fist. He'd look up and see her standing in front of him. After recovering from speechlessness, he'd ask what she was doing there.

"Moving to Japan to be with you," she would tell him. She smiled at the thought.

"Maybe he'll carry you off to the applause of all the people watching," Lorelai had suggested when they were at the airport in Hartford.

Many of Rory's fellow passengers had already picked up their luggage, leaving her and a few others to wait. When her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, she hastily reached to answer it.

"Hello?" She listened as Cecilia Dugray frantically told her Tristan knew she was not in Japan. "He's leaving?" Rory asked. It was the story of her life. She quickly glanced at the luggage carousel and her bag finally appeared. But it was crawling toward her like she had all the time in the world.

"I think he's heading for his car," Cecilia said. "You have to go find him."

Rory hung up and left her bag to circle around again. She looked down at her phone grimly. "I guess I should be glad you didn't spoil the surprise," she said as she hurried away. She made her way through the airport, looking all around as she went. She didn't see Tristan anywhere. She found an exit and pushed the door open, meeting the evening twilight. She gawked at all the people going to their cars.

Her heart jumped into her throat when she spotted a tall blond figure walking away. She sped up and ran past a row of parked cars. As she got closer, she yelled out, "Tristan! Wait!"  
>Hearing his name—or the sound of her voice—he lifted his head and stopped. Rory continued to run until she reached him. When he turned around, she gasped at the sight of him in his double breasted uniform. She tried to stop, but ran into him. Though he was frowning in confusion, he quickly grabbed her upper arms to steady her.<p>

Before thinking of anything, she lifted herself to her toes to kiss him. It was a second before Tristan responded, and when he did he parted his lips so his tongue could slide next to hers. His hands clenched her arms tighter and dragged her closer to him.

He took his time before he broke away, though he didn't let her loose. Staring at her in wonder, he said, "You're not my mom."

She shook her head and smiled. "No. She lied. I had to lure you off the base to surprise you," Rory explained. "For someone who doesn't care about gated communities, you kind of live in the mother of gated communities."

"I'm a huge hypocrite," Tristan said. He was still staring at her intently, barely blinking. "I thought you knew."

"It's a good thing Japan has dance, or you probably wouldn't have believed your mom would visit."

"I still had trouble believing it," he said.

Rory pursed her lips grimly and knit her brows. "Do you ever get the impression she just wants someone to pal around with?"

Tristan pointedly tapped his nose a few times.

She eased away as much as he'd let her, and she presses her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart beating quickly. She took a look at his navy suit coat and tie. There were gold stripes on his sleeves. "Do you wear this all the time?"

He shook his head. "I was in court today."

"Oh, well, I like it," she said with a grin. "You look very official."

He tried to take a step away and seriously said, "Rory."

"Tristan," she said, not liking that he was trying to put distance between them, but understanding his confusion.

"You're in Japan."

"I know. I came here on purpose."

"You're supposed to be hating me in Connecticut."

"I was, and it was working pretty well for a while." Her hands were getting tingly. "But now it isn't. And I can go wherever I want whenever I want, remember?"

"Right," he said, warily.

"So I chose Japan." Out of anxiety at finally being here in front of him, she faltered and started to ramble, "Did you know Kyoto has thousands of temples and shrines?"

"I've heard something about them," he said slowly.

"And there are a lot of gardens too—I'm sure they're beautiful, I really want to check them out. And I want to go to Dogo for a soak in the hot springs—even if I have to be naked in front of strangers."

"Bold," Tristan commented. "So you came to Japan to sightsee?"

"No," she said, ready to try again. "I came because it's where you are—and I want to be where you are. So I'm moving. Here," she said, watching his reaction.

His face was still unreadable and he slowly asked, "You want to move here?"

She nodded. "Yes. You said something about living in a small town and you get to see the world. Those are two things I love right there. So really, it's the best of both worlds."

"_I_ live in the small town. You can't live there."

She frowned and defiantly said, "I could live there."

He shook his head. "Not allowed."

"The Navy is old fashioned?"

"They don't pay living expenses for non-military personnel."

"They do for some."

There was a silent beat. "Those are dependents."

"See?"

"See what?"

"Your family can live with you."

"You aren't my family—as much as I'm sure you'd be into that."

"I could be."

He blinked. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Are you proposing?"

"No—although . . . In addition to small towns and seeing the world, I also love—uh, you." Her checks warmed, getting a bit flustered. "I thought you might feel the same way about me."

His eyes clouded and he averted his gaze, looking beyond her with a pained expression.

Her heart thumped uncomfortably and the blood drained from her face. She started to extract herself from him. "Oh. I was wrong." She muttered, "So was Grandma. Good think I haven't moved all my stuff yet."

He looked back at her and grabbed her wrists before she could get away. "You aren't wrong. I do . . . love you," he said.

She felt better immediately, except Tristan still didn't look as happy as he was supposed to.

He went on, "But that's why you can't move here."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I hate your job," he said. It burst out of him like he'd been bottling it up. "I hate it. Pretty much everything about it. The coming and going on a whim. The dangerous locations. I hate it," he said again. "You go and I don't know how long you'll be gone and I worry about you."

"But—"

He interrupted her protest to continue his rant, "I can't eat or sleep until you get back, and I just—I wish I was okay with it, but I'm not. I wasn't okay with it in Connecticut, and I won't be okay with it in Japan. But it's your life's ambition, so you have to do it."

"Can I say some—"

"—It's better if you do it from the other side of the world," he said. "I don't like it, but at least then I can't worry if I don't know where you are." He exhaled heavily, looking miserable. "Sorry." He glanced at the building behind her. "You should get a ticket to go back home. Otherwise you'll have come a really long way for a booty call."

Rory paused for a beat. Then she asked, "Are you finished?"

"Yes." He shook his head a little and again said, "I'm sorry."

"I don't _have_ to do it."

"Don't have to do what?"

"The journalism gig. I don't have to do that."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't. I don't feel like doing it anymore. It hasn't been giving me much satisfaction lately," she said. "I tried getting a job, and you should hear some of the excuses I came up with to not take them. And it won't fit in with the other things I want now."

"What things?"

"The things alternative to getting a cat when I'm forty. You know, a life." Then she hesitantly added, "With you."

"But what are you going to do?" Tristan asked, his eyebrows moving closer together.

She stood up straighter and smiled a little. "Teach English."

"Teach?"

"English," she repeated with a nod. "I'm going to talk about books all day and tell high school kids to go to college and write them recommendation letters." She smiled wider. "Did you know there are schools on military bases?"

He nodded. "Who do you think prepares the teacher contracts?"

"Oh, right. Anyway, I won't be able to get a job there for this coming next school year, there isn't enough time. I can do that at the next place. But, there's the American School of Japan right here in Tokyo," she said excitedly. "I talked with the principal and I'm going there for an interview tomorrow. I'm really nervous. I hope I get it."

"I—hope so too," Tristan said, still processing all of this information. "You'd be really good at it—all of it."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. But I'm not exactly qualified," she went on. "That's no problem though. I can get certified in a year."

"You're going to be a teacher," he stated.

"Yes."

"In Japan."

"Yes."

"You want to teach in Japan."

"By George, I think he's got it," she said. She quickly added, "And it's okay if I don't get the job—it _is_ my first try. It would be good character building."

"Next place?" Tristan asked, like he was in a daze.

"What?"

"You said next place. I want to go back to that part. What did you mean?"

Perplexed, Rory answered, "You know you won't be stationed in Japan forever. So there will be a next place." Slowly, she added, "I'm going to go with you. Wherever that may be."

Tristan opened his mouth, but closed it, unable to come up with something to say. He stared at her for a moment. "This is really big—you don't do this kind of thing. You follow your dreams, not a guy."

"You'd be surprised how the two have converged," Rory said. "But hopefully those will stop, now that I'm moving."

"You're serious about this," Tristan said, brow arching slightly. "You're moving here."

"Yes."

"And you know how crazy it sounds."

"I do. But some people think it's crazier to stay in Connecticut . . . waiting for the day you come back."

She seemed to have surprised him again. Unnecessarily, he blurted out, "I quit my job there."

Solemnly, she said, "I heard about that—last week. That's why I had to move." Remembering the other half of that business, she quickly said, "Don't sell your house. Just in case. Maybe you'll get sent to Groton or New London one day—and you might want to live there."

"Oh, that's true—"

She continued to ramble, "But hopefully that won't be for a while, because there are lots of other places to live first, all over the world."

"And you're going along. With me."

She smiled at him. "Yes. I'm going with you."

Finally, Tristan slowly smiled back at her. "But what about your mom?" he asked. "Can you two survive without each other?"

"I think it's time to try," Rory said, grinning ruefully. "I was going to move out anyway, you know I've overstayed my welcome. But I wouldn't even consider perfectly good places, just because you weren't there."

Tristan let her wrists go then, so he could grab her by the shoulders to pull her to him again. His lips crashed into hers and she laughed a little. His hands trailed down to her waist, keeping his grasp firm, as though to keep her from changing her mind and running away.

He pulled away just enough to say, "I can't believe you're doing this."

"I know. I should get my head examined," she said, beaming. She gasped. "But I need to go get my luggage first. It's still circling the conveyor belt."

"You won't need it for the hot springs," he said with a smirk. "I want to go there first."

"Clothes might be appropriate for my interview tomorrow." She took his hand as she led him back toward the airport.

Her stomach growled loudly and he glanced at her, amused. Then he stopped suddenly and made Rory stop with him. She turned to face him. "What?"

"Do you want to go out for dinner with me?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Dinner sounds good."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On Friday of the following week, Emily walked into the living room to find her daughter already sitting on one of the couches.

"Lorelai," Emily said, glancing at a clock on the wall. "You're early."

"I know. Rory called, so I thought I'd just come over."

"She did? What did she say?" Emily asked eagerly as she went to the drink cart to mix martinis.

"She just heard back from her interview at the American school today—she got up early, it's morning for her right now—"

"I know the time difference."

"—and they liked her enthusiasm, so they hired her," Lorelai said with a smile.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Emily said, handing Lorelai her drink and having a seat with her own. "I knew they would love her."

"Yeah, so, I have to send her the rest of her stuff this weekend. She has it all boxed up in her room, ready to go."

"She would have needed her things, regardless," Emily said knowingly. "I told her she didn't have anything to worry about where Tristan was concerned."

"I know, but she was still a little anxious right before she left."

Emily knew. She'd sat with Rory at the airport while they waited for Christopher to arrive. Emily had noted the way Rory kept bouncing her knee and biting her nails, glancing at the other people who were coming and going.

"Sorry," Rory had said, trying to stay still. "I'm just—"

"Excited?"

"Yeah. And nervous," she'd admitted.

"About your interview?"

"A little, but . . . Tristan. It's been a month. I hope he'll be happy to see me."

"He will be," Emily had said with authority. "Anyone who wouldn't want to be with you would have to be an idiot. At least, that's what he told me."

Rory had frowned a little. "He did?" She seemed to think about it for a moment, then had said, "Maybe that's why he didn't understand why Lo—." Rory had stopped and her eyes darted to Emily. "I just thought he was slow."

Emily swirled the ice in her drink and took a sip. "Those fears were unfounded," she commented. She looked over at her daughter on the couch. "Lorelai, I want to know something. And I want you to tell the truth."

"You can't handle the truth," Lorelai said quickly. "Oh, sorry. It's a habit. What do you want to know?"

"When Rory started seeing Logan," Emily said, "did he see other girls—at the same time?"

Lorelai looked surprised by the question. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure you can handle the truth."

"So it's true," Emily stated. Tristan had known what he was talking about after all, she thought. Flatly, she said, "Idiot."

Lorelai's drink paused midway to her mouth, again surprised. "They kept things casual in the beginning."

"And Rory was okay with that?"

"She said she was." Lorelai lifted a shoulder. "She liked him."

She couldn't believe her granddaughter would agree to such an arrangement. "No wonder you didn't like him."

"I don't know why everyone thinks I didn't like Logan. I rooted for him all along, but no one else would give him a chance."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Anyway, Rory e-mailed me a beautiful picture of Mount Fuji yesterday."

"I got that too," Lorelai said. She took a sip of her martini. Musingly, she said, "You know Mom, I think this was all your doing."

"What was?"

"Everything. You were friends with Francine and Straub back in the day, so Chris and I had to have Rory—"

"Had to? I don't think I deserve credit for that—"

"—Then Chris didn't work at Straub's firm, so Tristan could."

"Now really," Emily protested.

"And we can't forget how you paid for Rory to go to Chilton—which is where she and Tristan met in the first place." Lorelai went on, "You've been planning all this for years. I'd be furious with you if I wasn't so impressed. You are the true puppet master around here."

"Honestly, I don't know where you come up with some of these things."

"It's a gift."

The maid came and announced dinner then, so they stood and headed for the dining room. When they'd taken their seats, Emily approvingly said, "Cecilia was certainly excited at the DAR meeting this week. She told everyone who would listen how Rory Gilmore moved to Japan because of her son."

"I heard," Lorelai commented. "Some of the biddies asked me about it on their way out of the inn. Apparently they haven't been to any good weddings in a while and have something to look forward to now. _I_ haven't heard anything about it."

"Cecilia has spoken with Tristan. I'm sure she pried about his intentions," Emily said. Then, "She probably has their china patterns picked out."

"I can't imagine a person being so eager about a match," Lorelai said sardonically, picking at her salad.

Emily ignored the comment as she placed her napkin on her lap. "And at our meeting for the symphony, she asked me what I think their children will look like."

"Aryan Youth?"

Cecilia's plan to take a trip to Italy—and Quinn—were forgotten for the time being. The woman certainly flitted from one thing to the next, Emily thought.

Lorelai ate a few bites of her chicken and then said, "You know what? I've thought about it, and I think I'm ready to join the DAR."

Emily frowned sharply. "You are not."

"Yes I am," Lorelai said. "You know I'm eligible, they have to let me in."

"You don't want to join the DAR," Emily said again. She added, "You wouldn't like it."

"I would too. With Rory gone, I need an extracurricular activity to keep me busy. And don't forget, I was a big hit at the Chilton booster club. They loved me." Lorelai gasped. "Oh my God, that's it."

"What's it?"

"That's why you don't want me to join your club. All the other members are going to love me, and you're threatened by it."

"I am not. Don't be silly." Emily scowled down at her salad. "Where are the raisins? I specifically said there were to be raisins in tonight's salad."

"Don't try to change the subject," Lorelai said. "The other DAR ladies are going like me so much, they'll make me their queen."

"We don't have queens," Emily said impatiently.

"President then. But I won't forget you when I'm at the top. I'm going to need a second."

"So this is life without a buffer."

Her daughter gave one of her evil grins. "That reminds me, with Rory gone, I have an extra ticket to a U2 concert," she explained. "You should come."

"To a rock concert? I couldn't possibly. Take Sookie, or Luke."

Lorelai shook her head. "I sat the tickets aside specifically for mother-daughter bonding. You're the only one who fits the bill now. Come on Mom, what do you say?"


	18. XVIII

**Story**: Family Feudalism

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: It's the end. A big thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, especially those of you who reviewed after every chapter- you know who you are. I will post a big long author note on my LJ. I don't know why this took me three weeks, but it actually fits for it to land here in mid-August as you will soon see.

**XVIII: Epilogue**

Tristan walked from the master bedroom to the kitchen early in the morning. He pulled a box of cereal out of the pantry and milk from the fridge. He grabbed a bowl and spoon and took his breakfast to the table. It was a large informal table that sat between the kitchen island and the living room. The whole house was now fully furnished. The living room even had comfortable chairs. Rory didn't like his idea of a room wasted, only to be used for guests.

As he started to eat his cereal and read the paper, he glanced up when Rory walked out of the bedroom, still wearing the t-shirt and flannel shorts she woke up in. She made a beeline for the stairs and quickly went up to knock on a door. "Are you awake?" she asked.

"Yes, I set my alarm," a muffled girl's voice answered.

"Are you up?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"We don't want to be late," Rory said.

"We have lots of time."

"I want to get there early."

"I know, I've met you." After a pause, "I'm up."

"Good," Rory said before walking back down the stairs.

Tristan's eyes followed her as she went back to their bedroom. He finished off his bowl of cereal and continued to read the paper. Ten minutes later, a girl walked down the steps. Her brown hair fell past her shoulders, splaying over her blue sweater vest. She had a matching plaid skirt that had only gone through minor changes over the years.

"Morning," Tristan said.

"Morning," his daughter, Emma mumbled.

He stood and took his bowl over to the sink and rinsed it out as she took a pitcher of dark liquid out of the fridge. "Do you want some?" she asked, taking a clean glass from the dishwasher.

"No thank you."

"I could doctor it up if you don't want the straight coffee," she offered. "Like chocolate for an iced mocha."

"I'm good."

She poured herself a cup and sighed as she emptied the pitcher.

"What?" he asked.

"That's the last of the cold brewed coffee. It's the official end of summer."

"I thought the first day of school made it official."

She shook her head at her cup sadly, then took a box of strawberry strudel out of the freezer. She retrieved the toaster from a lower cabinet and prepared her breakfast.

As he watched her, Tristan took a banana from a bowl on the counter and asked, "Can I interest you in something that won't stunt your growth?"

Emma looked over at him with eyes the same pale shade as his. "You cannot." When her strudel popped up, she put it on a plate and took it to the island. She opened a packet of icing and squeezed it onto her pastry. She glanced up to see Tristan watching. "What?" She pointed to the box. "This has fruit in it. So it's healthy."

He shook his head at her. He asked, "Are you ready for high school?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell people you're Japanese?" he asked knowingly.  
>She grinned. "No. I updated my backstory."<p>

"But you like the blank looks people give you." And they would certainly be blank, he knew. No one at her new school had a sense of humor.

"I'm just changing it a _little_." She ate a bite of pastry.

"Let's hear it."

She took her time chewing before she took a sip of coffee and answered, "I'm going to say my dad was stationed in Japan and had a baby with a local. So then he had to marry her."

Tristan, with his peeled banana halfway to his mouth, stopped. He stared. "That's not true."

"It's not completely false."

"It's mostly false."

She rocked her head back and forth in consideration. "I wouldn't say mostly. I'm quite brilliant at math, you know. I mastered the art of addition and subtraction a long time ago. You got married in January."

"I know, I was there."

"Me too. My birthday is in June—of the _same year_."

"You were a preemie."

"By like one month, not three," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "It's okay, you can tell me the truth. I know you had to marry Mom because of me. You were doing the responsible thing."

"You need to brush up on your family history if you think things would go down like that." He went on to take a bite of his banana.

"I know my family history. Don't you think Mom would want me to have a dad?"

"Probably," he admitted. "There's only one minor hole in your logic. She moved a very long way to imply I would be that person. And you were only a glimmer in my eye at the time."

They both went back to their breakfast. After a few minutes, Emma licked some icing from her lip and glanced over at Tristan again. "You look very handsome in your uniform today, Daddy."

He hadn't heard her call him that in years. "Thank you. But I thought you liked the summer whites better."

"The khaki looks good too." She took another bite.

"What do you want?"

She grinned and took her time before she asked, "Are you going to put a pool in?"

"I'm still thinking about it."

"We don't want all those swim lessons to go to waste."  
>"Those were for your safety," Tristan said. "If you're ever on a boat that capsizes, you'll be able to swim yourself to shore."<p>

"Well I'm going to get a swimming scholarship when I go to college, so the joke's on you."

"Yup," he said dryly. "You showed me. But doesn't that mean you're in the pool enough?"

"This would be for leisure," she assured him. Then she tried again, "We told Great Grandma we might put in a pool. She might leave if we don't."

"I don't think the promise of a pool was what clinched it for her."

Relentless, she continued, "What about these Chilton kids? When I make friends with them, they might want to go for a swim when they come over."

"If you need a pool to impress them, you don't want them as your friends," he countered, though she wasn't completely without a point.

Emma huffed dramatically and went back to her strudel.

He finished off his banana before carefully asking, "You know how you're really good at making new friends?"

"Mm-hmm," she answered, lowering her gaze back down at her half eaten breakfast. "It's my special skill." She picked up her coffee and took another sip before she looked back at Tristan.

"And that's great. But these Chilton kids," he said, "they don't have that skill. They've been in Hartford all their lives—it's all they know. And they aren't very good at meeting new classmates."

"So they won't like me?"  
>"No, they'll like you," he said quickly. "I mean, eventually. Once they get to know you."<p>

Rory appeared once again, this time dressed in a brown knee length skirt and tan blouse. She checked out Emma's breakfast and said, "Ooh, can you make me one of those?"  
>Their daughter glanced over at Tristan with a smirk. "Sure." She slid off the bar stool and returned to the toaster. As she pulled out another pastry and icing packet, she said, "Dad's trying to scare me. The kids at Chilton won't like me."<p>

"Why not?"

Tristan shot Rory an apathetic look.

"They aren't worldly," Emma said. "And they don't like new people."

"Oh . . . well," Rory said, brows now knitting together as she frowned.

"So it's true," the young brunette stated, seeming to get consent from her mother's lack of an argument.

"No, it'll be okay," Rory said. "You're starting on the first day—and you're a freshman, like all your classmates. So you'll be fine," she insisted. "You should also be thankful I'm not wearing cutoff jeans and cowboy boots today."

Emma's eyes lit up. "Is that what Grandma wore on your first day?"

"Unfortunately."

"And that was before she almost married a teacher," Tristan added.

Emma looked from her father to her mother. "I already have that problem."

"Problem?" Rory went to the coffee maker and took the twelve cup pot to the sink. "Aren't you excited? This is the first time we get to go to the same school."

"Sure," Emma said. "It's every girl's dream to start high school with her mom."

"I bet it was for _this_ girl," Tristan said, pointing at his wife.

"Did you not hear the part about cutoff jeans?" Rory asked. "I couldn't make that up."

"You aren't assigning your classes homework today, are you?" Emma asked with a pained expression.

"What are you worried about? You aren't even in my class."

"But other kids will be. And it'll get around that I'm the girl with the mom who assigned homework on the first day."

"It's only a little reading," Rory said, mildly defensive. She looked from her husband to their daughter and changed the subject, "You guys are so lucky, you never have to decide what to wear in the morning. I'm going to feel so weird at Chilton without my uniform."

"I'd feel really weird if you _did_ wear one," Emma said. Then she asked, "Why do you still have one—in the back of your closet?"  
>Rory glanced at Tristan, and he looked away, leaving her hanging to answer. "Oh, uh—just—no reason."<p>

"Why don't you go up and see if Charlie's awake," Tristan suggested.

"Do I have to make him breakfast too?"  
>Tristan glanced over at the second strudel that just popped up in the toaster and back to Emma. "No. I'll get it." He took another bowl from the cabinet and poured more cereal as she headed up the stairs.<p>

"Why would you tell her the Chilton kids won't like her?" Rory asked.

Tristan got the milk from the fridge. "Because it's in the realm of possibility. I'm drawing from _your_ experience."

"And _you_ were one of the mean Chilton kids."

"Hey, I was very nice to you on your first day. . . Mary."

She took the milk from him to pour a little in her cup of coffee. "Is that the kind of nice you're hoping your daughter encounters today?"

Tristan put his hands at his waist and tried to remember the specifics of that first encounter with his wife. "This isn't about me. And we were different."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't know you were someone's daughter."

Rory scoffed lightly. "Didn't cross your mind?"

"Requesting to be sent back here was the right thing to do, right?" he asked, his concern growing.

"Chilton is a good school," she reasoned.

"There are lots of good schools in the world."

"But we want the kids to feel like they have a hometown. We've been telling them this is home, so we had to follow up by—you know—living here."

"Right," Tristan agreed. "So they'll be fine." He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the counter. "Are you ready for _your_ first day at Chilton?"

"I think so," she answered, taking a bite of her strudel. "It's not so scary after you conquer it."

"Don't get intimidated by the parents of your AP students."

"I won't," she said. "You're full of all kinds of pep talks today."

"Just watching out for my girls," he said. "You're really excited about today, aren't you?"

She shot him a cheeky smile. "Yes." She lifted herself on her toes to give him a quick kiss before picking up her coffee.

He licked strawberry filling and icing off his bottom lip. She took a sip and turned to go back to the bedroom to continue getting ready. Tristan watched her until he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He looked over to see Emma behind a dark haired boy, paused a few steps away from the first floor.

"Don't do it, you'll hurt yourself," she told him.

The little boy jumped, skipping over the last four steps. He landed hard on his feet, taking a step on impact and falling to his knee. He got up quickly and looked bashfully from Tristan to Emma.

She made her way down the last steps. "Did it hurt?" she asked dryly.

The boy shook his head before proceeding to the kitchen island.

"I told him not to jump," Emma told Tristan.

"I heard," he said, putting the bowl of cereal in front of his son and reaching for the milk. He shook his head at Emma. "Kids."

She sat down next to her brother to finish the last of her coffee.

Charlie picked up his spoon, but before he ate any cereal, he asked, "Can Grandma come live with us?"

"Yeah," Emma chimed in. "She wants the extra room downstairs."

"No," Tristan said.

"You don't even know which grandma we're talking about," Emma protested.

"I bet I do," he said. "One grandmother around here is enough. And the extra room is going to be a writing room for your mom."

"She has too many books in there. You should build her a studio in the backyard," Emma suggested. "Then she'll have more privacy."

"Who's going to build it?"

"You."

"I'll help," Charlie offered, apparently on board with the idea.

"A pool and a writing studio," Tristan said. "That's quite a to-do list."

Charlie picked up his bowl and started to slide off his stool. "Can I eat breakfast with Great Grandma?"

"We can go ask her," Tristan said, leading the boy to the garage door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emily opened her day planner and checked her agenda for the day. A couple of her friends were coming over for a canasta game later that morning, and she had an appointment to get her hair done in the afternoon. Her maid would be arriving within the hour to prepare lunch and tidy up.

She walked out of her bedroom and was immediately in the living room. She never would have guessed she'd enjoy living in such a small space. And judging by her great-grandchildren's pleading when they'd invited her to live there, they must have had their doubts, as well.

"Please, Grandma," Charlie had said, after his parents announced where they were moving next. His eyes had grown wide and he pressed his hands together as though in prayer.

Emma had looked around the large Gilmore mansion timidly. "It's really small, but we might get a pool." She'd glanced at her father with that omission.

Emily had looked at Rory, for confirmation this was what they all wanted, for her to live so close to them—practically with them.

Rory had tilted her head a bit and asked, "Did I ever thank you and Grandpa for letting me live in your pool house, back in college? Because, I'm thankful, really. For everything."  
>Another look to the children, and Emily had accepted. She couldn't tell them no. The idea of being merely yards away was an offer she couldn't pass up. She still maintained her own house. She couldn't part with the home she'd shared with Richard for so long.<p>

She had to have the guest house decorated by a professional when she moved in earlier in the summer, though that hadn't been a problem. And she insisted on framing her photos herself, along with deciding where they would hang on the walls. She took a seat on the couch. She had piles of pictures lying all over the coffee table. Many of them had gone with her to her meetings and functions over the years, so she could show them off to her friends before they were framed.

A few photo albums also lay open as well. She picked one up and flipped through the pages. She didn't have to check the album label to know it said Spain. She'd visited twice each of the three years Tristan and Rory had lived there. Six of the pictures were dedicated to Emma's first day of Kindergarten. Emily continued to turn the pages, pausing briefly at the pictures from Christmas that year. She and Lorelai had made the trip together. Even Mason and Cecilia had managed to find time in their schedules to fit in a visit during the holidays.

Emily was about to turn the page when there was a knock at her door. She put the album down and went to open the door that led out to the garage. Tristan and Charlie stood in front of her.

"Morning," Tristan greeted. "Feel like company?"

Charlie looked up at her, bowl of cereal in hand, and asked, "Can I eat breakfast with you?"

"Of course," she said with a smile as she moved to let him into her kitchen.

There was a round dining table where Charlie sat his bowl. He climbed up onto a chair as his father put a glass of milk in front of him. "Don't take too long," Tristan warned. "You still have to get ready." He nodded at Emily then before turning to go back to the main house.

Emily sat down next to the boy and asked, "Are you excited to start second grade today?"

Charlie nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"And doesn't Emma look nice in her Chilton uniform?" She had modeled her plaid skirt and vest the night before. She was the spitting image of Rory at that age.

He nodded his agreement. When he finished chewing his cereal he said, "When I get big like Em, I want to go to military school."

Emily frowned. "You mean you want to go to school on base again, like when you lived in England?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "I want to go to military school, like my dad did," he said with a level of confidence.

Emily was pretty sure he didn't know what it meant.

"Where's Germany?" he asked, stumbling a bit over the consonants.

"It's in Europe," she answered.

"I hope we live there next."

"Well, your dad serves in the Navy, so you would only go somewhere by the ocean."

"Oh," the boy said with a frown. "Germany isn't by the ocean?"

"No."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, and then went back to his cereal.

"Do you like living in different places?"

He nodded as he chewed.

It was enough indication to Emily that he took after his mother. She knew if Richard had ever gotten to meet his great-grandson, he would proudly proclaim the boy was a Gilmore.

"I was looking at some pictures before you came over," Emily said, standing to retrieve an album from the coffee table. She opened it in the middle and turned a few more pages until she found what she was looking for. She took it back to the kitchen table and pointed at the picture of Lorelai holding a baby. "Do you know who that is?"

Charlie took a drink of his milk and looked at the picture out the corner of his eye. He put the glass down and said, "Grandma."

"Yes, and who is she holding?"

"A baby."

"That's you," she said, remembering the boy's long awaited arrival. Rory had been anxious for months, hoping everything would go right, and for no one to change their mind at the last minute. Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief when they brought him home. Lorelai had said if Tristan and Rory added to their brood, she would start referring to them as one word, as though they were celebrities who collected children. Emily hoped her daughter was joking.

They heard a scratching sound then, and they both looked at the door that led outside. Emily commented, "I wonder who that is." She got up and opened door to find a brown and white beagle pawing at the door.

"Fred!" Charlie said, sitting up tall to try to see out the door.

Emily knew the beagle was an outside dog, but as the great-grandmother, she didn't have to follow the rules. She opened the door and let the dog inside—a moment wouldn't hurt. Having finished his breakfast, Charlie sidled off the chair and knelt down to pet his dog.

Emily sat back down at the table. "Does Fred like living here?" she asked.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah."

"He doesn't miss the old house in England?"  
>"Just a little," he admitted. "But he likes it here too. He likes to live by you."<p>

Emily smiled. "I like it too. We should probably let him back outside though, you need to get ready for school."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the master bathroom, Rory stood in front of a sink, looking at the mirror to apply mascara as Emma brushed her teeth next to her at the second sink. When finished, she asked, "Can I wear some mascara?"

Rory handed over the makeup. "Just a little."

Emma carefully swiped some of the mascara on her eyelashes while Rory continued with her powder.

The younger brunette checked out her reflection and put the small plastic container back in her mother's makeup bag. She perched herself on the edge of the counter. "Do I _have_ to babysit Saturday night?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "Remember when it was just the three of us?"  
>"I do," Rory said. "We gave you baths in the kitchen sink and dressed you in onesies."<p>

"I can't actually remember that far back."

"That's too bad, you were adorable." Rory continued, "Don't you remember when we brought Charlie home? You told everyone who would listen he was your little brother, and how he was ours now."

"Yeah," Emma admitted. She was quiet for a moment before she shyly asked, "What if his real family wants him back one day?"

"We're his real family," Rory answered without a thought.

"No, like his real mom and dad."

"And everybody agreed before Charlie was born that your dad and I would be his parents."

"So they can't have him back then?" Emma asked. "They didn't want him, so they can't have him, even if they change their mind . . . right?"

"It isn't that they didn't want him," Rory argued. "It's that they thought he would be better off with a different family. It was because they cared. Either way, we are Charlie's family," she said firmly. "There's more to family than bloodlines and last names."

"What if we aren't enough for him when he gets older?" Emma asked.

It sounded like she'd been watching _Flirting With Disaster_, Rory thought grimly. "If he decides he wants to meet his—other—family one day, then we'll support him." She went on, "But he'll still be part of our family. And you will always be his big sister. Okay?"

"Okay," her daughter said. But she still didn't change the subject. "If Grandma Lorelai gave you away, since she was so young, would you have wanted to find her?"

"I don't know," Rory answered.

"I bet you would have, she's fun," Emma said confidently.

"But I wouldn't have known that without meeting her."

"You used to be a journalist though. You would probably want to investigate and find out the truth."

Another unknown, Rory thought. There was no way of knowing if she'd have had the same career goals if she was raised by someone else. She was the person she was in large part because of Lorelai Gilmore. She would have a whole different life if it hadn't been for her mother. Rory made a lifetime of choices with her mother's guidance and influence.

She glanced over her daughter, happy with the decisions she'd made up until that point. She looked back down to her makeup bag. "Hey, where's that pink lip gloss I like?"  
>"The one that makes your lips all shiny?"<p>

"Yeah."

"That's mine. So it's in my room."

"Can I borrow it?"  
>Emma dug around in the bag until she found what she was looking for. She handed over a tube of lipstick. "This one will look better with your outfit."<p>

"Oh, thanks," Rory said as she took the lid off and faced the mirror to put it on.

"Can we watch movies after dinner when Grandma Lorelai comes over Friday night?"

"If she wants to," Rory said, knowing her mother would gladly extend the evening.

Emma checked the time on her watch and hopped off the counter. "I need to go get my stuff," she said as she picked up her toothbrush and left the room.

Rory gave herself a last look in the mirror before putting her makeup bag in a drawer. She left the bathroom and went to the walk in closet for brown heels. Tristan joined her, and he switched the light on.

She looked down at the shoes in her hand. "Well these are black in the light," she said, trading them for the correct color. "Is Charlie dressed and ready?"

"Yup," Tristan answered as he put his own shoes on. "He told Emily he wants to go to military school."

Rory frowned at him. "Does he know what that means?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

She took comfort in the fact that their son didn't have a reason to make misguided statements to get Tristan's attention. The boy just looked up to his father.

Tristan peered at something at the back of the closet mournfully. "You can't wear that anymore. It would be way too weird. And wrong."

Rory held onto his arm to keep steady as she put her heels on. She glanced to the place he indicated. Her old blue pleated skirt hung innocently next to a blazer. "You could wear yours."

"These aren't doing it for you anymore?" he asked, pointing to his organized Navy uniforms on his side of the closet.  
>"They are." She smiled a little. "But anyone who doesn't do the assigned reading tonight will end up in detention."<p>

He raised a brow in interest. "I'm definitely skipping the assignment then."

She headed out of the closet and he followed, switching off the light. They went to the kitchen, where Emma was helping Charlie check his new school items in his backpack. When finished, she went to the cabinet to fill two travel mugs with coffee. Both kids picked up the lunches sat on the island. He gestured for Charlie to join him at the refrigerator as he opened it.

"Oh yeah," the boy said, pulling out a bouquet of assorted flowers. He walked over to Rory, handing her the bouquet.

She knelt down to accept them with a big smile and a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. I'll put them on my desk at school," she said, as it was where she always put her first day of school bouquet Tristan traditionally gave her. There was also a small, oddly shaped package covered in wrapping paper. She didn't have to open it to know it was a new set of her favorite ink pens.

Her bag was sitting at the end of the table, so she stuck the package of pens inside before pulling out two stapled sheets of paper. She had to grab a pair of reading glasses from the bag and put them on so she see what she'd typed on her English Literature syllabus. She flipped to the second page to double check one of her points.

Emma, sitting at the island, addressed Tristan, "You know how your legalman in England had a son, but I couldn't date him?"

Tristan looked to her sharply. "What?"  
>Rory looked up too, and slowly took her reading glasses back off.<p>

With everyone's full attention, Emma continued, "Since you outranked his dad, we wouldn't have been able to date."

"You couldn't date him because you were thirteen," Tristan said, incredulous.

"It also wasn't allowed."

Rory said, "You never even talked to him, did you?"

Emma shook her head. "No, he was a grade ahead of me. We might have liked each other though, if we got to know each other."

"Is it possible you romanticized it in your head?"

"I don't think so."

Rory glanced at Tristan, who was still staring in disbelief, and then back to their young, teenage daughter. "Uh, did you have a point?"

Emma nodded at her mother. "Yes. If the headmaster at Chilton has a son, are we not allowed to date since you're a teacher there?"  
>Rory started, "The headmaster doesn't have a—"<p>

"Yup, same rule," Tristan interrupted quickly. "It would be very inappropriate." Then he asked, "If some guy offers you something like notes or a book—or anything—what will you do?"

"Say thank you?"

"Wrong. Say no and walk away."

"But he sounds nice, and no one else will like me."

"He's up to no good. And you won't need to borrow his stuff anyway. You'll have your own notes because you're going to school to learn. Always ask yourself what your mother would do. And then do it."

Rory muttered, "That sounds a little tricky." She put her syllabus away and threw her bag over her shoulder. "Grandma wants to take our picture before we go. Why don't you go tell her we're ready?" She picked up her flowers.

The two kids complied, leaving Tristan and Rory alone. He watched to make sure the kids were out the door before turning back to her abruptly. "Keep an eye on her—at school." He quickly added, "No, watch the boys. Watch her _and_ the boys."

"But when will I work?" she asked, amused.

"Is it too late to consider all-girls school?" he asked. "Preferably Catholic—with nuns."

"I think it is a little late, yes."

He pointed toward the garage door. "I know for a fact those skirts used to be longer."

"Yeah, we voted to move the hemline up."

"Who is 'we'?"

"The student counsel, senior year."

"Why would you vote in favor of that?"

Dryly, Rory answered, "I wasn't thinking of how it would affect _you_ one day."

"Obviously."

"It'll be okay. Come on, let's go."

Before she got past him, Tristan stopped her. He picked up a few envelops from the counter and handed them to her. "Forget something?"

She looked down and her smile faltered slightly. Each envelope had postage and a clearly printed address. "Oh, right." They were query letters, all ready to be mailed. She wrinkled her nose and looked back up at Tristan. "I haven't heard back from the other five publishers yet. Maybe I should give them more time."

"Or maybe they aren't interested," he said.

Her shoulders dropped.

"But that's okay. One or all of those will want to buy what you wrote and you'll go to the highest bidder."

"I don't think I've given self-publishing enough consideration. I don't have to go the traditional route. It worked out for Mark Twain and John Steinbeck."

"Sure, and you can go back to being your own accountant, marketing department, editor, distributer," he said, ticking off a list on his fingers. "All by yourself."

She had lesson plans to update, papers to grade, and two children who were not done being raised. Not to mention all the long bike rides Tristan had taken them on to give Rory quiet time to write. "Stupid pro con lists. I shouldn't leave those lying around." She continued to protest, "This is my fourth try. I already have three manuscripts sitting on the shelf. Maybe this is a sign I should throw in the towel."

"That sounds like a good message to send the kids," Tristan said. "If at first you don't succeed, give up."

She sighed heavily and snatched the envelopes away. "Fine." They finally continued out of the kitchen, but before Rory joined her grandmother and children for the picture she stopped Tristan. "Hey, just think, today might be the day Emma meets her husband."

"You are not funny."

_**Fin**_


End file.
